Bannon & Zevran Bk I: Origins Ch4: Friends and Lovers
by Bloodsong 13T
Summary: Bannon & Zevran: one of the quickest, slickest, smartest, conniving, lying, thieving, assassining, & insanely annoying rogue duos ever. The nature of their relationship changes... for better or for worse. Oh, and they still have to save the world, too.
1. (The Story so Far)

**Bannon &amp; Zevran: Book I: Origins: Recap **

_Author's Note:_

If you just happened by, this is not the start of the story (okay, saga :X). Look for the previous parts, if you want to start at the beginning. (Yes, it is LONG!) (Or, you know, just read the recap, here.)

* * *

_The story so far..._

**Origins: Part 1: Prelude -**

Bannon, a plucky street rat from the elven Alienage in Denerim, braved the wrath of the local human noblemen to rescue his cousin Shianni and other women from Vaughn Kendells' grasp. With help from Shianni's brother, Soris, he killed Vaughn and four other noblemen, but not before Shianni is raped. Soris was taken prisoner for the murders, but a man named Duncan recruited Bannon into the Grey Wardens, to combat the coming Blight.

===#===

**Origins: Part 2: The Grey Wardens -**

The Grey Wardens and King Cailan went into battle against the Tainted darkspawn horde, but General Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of River Dane, retreated from the battle and left them to die. Alistair and Bannon, now initiated as a Grey Warden, were rescued from the Tower of Ishal by Flemeth, a self-proclaimed witch of the Wilds. She sent her daughter, Morrigan, to aid the last two surviving Grey Wardens in bringing their treaties and promises of aid to their allies.

Joining this trio are Leliana, a former bard of Orlais and Sister of the Chantry, who was sent a vision from the Maker, and Sten, a qunari from far-off Par Vallon, who was sentenced to die at the claws of the darkspawn after he murdered a family of farmers.

===#===

**Origins: Part 3: A Wolf in the Fold -**

The Wardens and their companions travel to Redcliffe to secure the aid of Arl Eamon against Loghain, who has set himself up as regent to rule Ferelden while blaming the Wardens for the king's death. However, Redcliffe is held in the grip of a nightmare, spawned by a demon possessing the arl's son, Connor. The companions fight a ghostly undead army, then rescue Connor at the price of his mother Isolde's life. Arl Eamon remains in a coma, and the Wardens begin the search for the legendary Sacred Ashes to cure him.

Zevran, a saucy assassin in the Antivan Crows, was hired to kill the Grey Wardens, but failed. He pled for his life, intending to escape from his bonds of slavery by joining the only people in the world who are tougher and more dangerous than the Crows - the Wardens.

The group made their way to the Circle Tower of mages, where a Blood Mage was staging a coup. With some help from Niall, a mage trapped in the Fade in the form of a mouse, the companions defeated both the Sloth demon and Uldred, the Blood Mage, to secure the help of the mages in the upcoming battle.

===#===

**Origins: Part 4: Partners in Crime -**

The companions follow the trail of Brother Genitivi, a scholar searching for the Sacred Ashes, back to Denerim, where Bannon discovers the Alienage is sealed off because of plague, after being harrowed by a Purge. Helpless to do anything to aid his family or people, he returns to the Wardens' mission.

Along the way, they aid Levi Dryden in reclaiming Soldier's Peak, an ancient Grey Warden outpost, inhabited by Avernus, a mage doing hideous experiments with the Taint to prolong the Wardens' shortened lifespan. They also discover a former royal guard being held and interrogated in the Bannorn by Loghain's allies, who imparts information to them about incriminating evidence against Loghain still left in Ostagar.

Finally, they discover Haven, an isolated and sealed-off town where the inhabitants have been guarding the Sacred Ashes since they were brought out of Tevinter, ages ago. The companions rescued Genitivi from a dragon-worshipping cult, made a deal with the cult leader, Kolgrim, to mingle dragon blood with the Sacred Ashes, entered the holy sacristy and passed the tests of the Guardian and the Gauntlet to earn the right to depart with a pinch of Ash.

Leliana persuades Father Eirik, a rival of Kolgrim's, to reconsider the sacred duty of the townspeople. Meanwhile, Bannon betrays Kolgrim and gets the dragon (who is a little peeved to find her babies killed and an egg stolen) to kill the cult leader and attack the cultists. The companions escape out of town with help from Eirik and return to Redcliffe, where the Ashes bring Arl Eamon out of his coma.

===#===

**The Relationship:**

Bannon took pity on Zevran, who was only a slave to the Crow Masters and wanted to be free. Plus, the thief was tired of being the only elf in the group. Zevran, being born in a whorehouse and trained by the Crows to seduce his targets, tried to use his charms on... well, everyone. He found the women unswayed, the qunari just impossible, and Fereldan men rather dense. But where Alistair would would go into chaste Chantry-boy conniptions whenever Zevran began coming on to him, Bannon would remain cool and calm.

As they traveled with their would-be assassin, Bannon came to know him better, the damaged and vulnerable person behind Zevran's suavity and braggadocio. He saw Zevran tortured by Crow trainers in the Fade, and got glimpses of the story of his mother selling him into slavery. Zevran truly wanted to be free, and Bannon was determined to help this elf who had become his close friend, and 'partner in crime.'

The two elves were closely matched, in physical prowess, in fighting skills, in quick thinking, in thought and opinion. Bannon mused it would be fun to travel the world with the assassin, living by their wits and their blades. Then he stole a pair of Antivan leather boots as a gift, and Zevran showed his appreciation with an unexpected kiss.

Bannon had to confront the possibility of a relationship with Zevran beyond friendship. It wasn't something he'd even contemplated (Bannon had plenty of women and liked them very much, thank you!). But... what if it could work?

He decided to try it. But only if the Antivan wasn't joking, and actually asked him.

===#===

**Now...**

The group is heading south and east out of Redcliffe, with the goal of reaching the Dalish elves in the Brecilian Forest.

===_X_===


	2. Bannon & Zevran

**Bannon &amp; Zevran (censored version)**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Mature

Flavor: Sex Scene

Language: no

Violence: no

Nudity: yes (m)

Sex: yes (m/m)

Other: none

Author's Notes:

Yes, at long last, the OTHER Bannon &amp; Zevran scene you have been waiting for! Besides the big fight.

This is the censored version of this scene. The full version is slightly more detailed and will not be posted on FanFiction net. If you prefer the complete scene, please see the Bannon &amp; Zevran forum.

Notice: If you couldn't guess, this is going to be a sexual relationship. If you want to skip those parts, be sure to read the Content Labels for each chapter!

* * *

**Bannon &amp; Zevran**

===#===

Zevran intercepted Bannon on the way to his tent. "Tsk, tsk, tsk! Look at you, you poor man; your weary stance, those dark circles under your eyes... Walking everywhere, to and fro all over this country, is taking its toll on you. You know what you need?"

Bannon cocked his head, quirked one brow, then rolled his eyes from one side to the other, thinking a long moment. "Um... a horse?"

Zevran chuckled. "No no, it is much to late for that. Here is my proposal: We retire to your tent, and I show you some of those elite massage techniques one can only learn growing up in an Antivan whorehouse. How does that sound to you, hm?"

"Hmmm..." The Denerim elf thoughtfully stroked his chin. "You know, you sold me on these 'various massage techniques' when you pledged me your service, but I have yet to see proof that you actually know any."

"I assure you!" Zevran placed his hand over his heart. "I give you my solemn word. Of course, there is only _one_ sure way to find out." He grinned evilly.

"Yes, I should really see for myself."

"Ah good, a willing victim!" The Antivan rubbed his hands together. He couldn't believe it was this easy. Was he dreaming? Was the Ferledan being dense again? "Now just to avoid any unfortunate misunderstandings that might arise: if things should start to go beyond a mere massage...?" He tilted his head, raising a brow suggestively.

Bannon hooded his eyes. "Well, we'll have to see how good this massage is, first." With a faint smile, he touched the other elf on the arm and beckoned him towards his tent.

===#===

They took off their armor and boots. Zevran was glad to see that Bannon was not particularly shy about his own body, nor another man's. Then again, they had already passed naked together through Andraste's fire. The Alienages in the various cities were crowded as well, with little room for the luxury of much privacy.

"Sit here," said Zevran, lowering himself onto the bedroll and rubbing oil onto his hands. Bannon sat in front of him, and Zevran spread his hands across his back. First, he only ran his palms over the smooth skin. Slowly, he increased the pressure, then gripped Bannon's shoulders with his fingertips. He kneaded the tight muscles. "You really are tense," he said quietly.

Using strong circular motions of his thumbs, he worked the muscles down Bannon's neck and spine. The elf leaned slightly against his hands, exhaling slowly. Zevran rubbed his back, bringing the strokes upward little by little, until he cupped the deltoids in the hollow of his hands.

He leaned forward, stretched to reach past the other elf, and snagged the brandy flask on his belt. "You have been working way too hard, my friend. I think you need even more help to relax."

Bannon raised his brows and half turned to watch as Zevran poured a shot of the liquor into the top of the container. "Antivan brandy: very fine, very smooth." He tossed it back, then licked his lips. He poured out a bit more, and handed it to Bannon.

He eyed the portion of amber liquor a moment. "Why is mine smaller than yours?"

"Genetics," Zevran quipped with a chuckle.

Bannon coughed in dry humor and shook his head.

"I want you to relax, not become so inebriated that you cannot perform." He winked. "It is quite strong for one not used to it."

Bannon drank it down and handed the top back for Zevran to secure the flask. Reflexively, he licked his lips.

"Sweet, is it not?" the assassin asked, rubbing Bannon's neck again. "Yet deadly in its potency. Somewhat like myself, actually." He chuckled again, softly in his throat.

Bannon closed his eyes and let the heat of the liquor infuse him. He melted under the strong ministrations of Zevran's hands. The Antivan pressed his thumbs alongside the bones of Bannon's neck, then stroked upward. He then did it again, but this time he ran the balls of his thumbs lightly up the back of the elf's ears. Bannon gasped, and a tremor shot through his body.

Zevran smiled at his reaction. He leaned close and pressed his lips against the side of Bannon's neck while he rubbed his shoulders. He traced a line of little kisses upward. Bannon tipped his head obligingly aside, and Zevran buried his fingers in Bannon's soft hair, rubbing his thumb gently at the base of the skull. Then he touched the tip of his tongue to Bannon's neck and retraced the line of kisses back down to his shoulder. Bannon exhaled in a nearly silent sigh. He turned his head, still cradled in Zevran's palm, and raised his hand towards the Antivan.

Zevran shifted obligingly to the side. Bannon half opened his eyes and turned towards him. His fingers touched the other elf's hair and stroked it lightly, then dug in deeper to grip him at the base of the skull. Bannon opened his mouth to receive Zevran's kiss. Their lips touched and parted, then touched again, gently exploring.

Bannon released Zevran's hair and shifted his hand down and around, touching Zevran's ribs and sliding his hand around to his back. With the other hand, he rubbed Zevran's shoulder. Zevran cupped both his hands around Bannon's head as their kissing grew more passionate. He let his hands glide down Bannon's neck and fan over his shoulders. He paused for both of them to catch their breath. Lips slightly parted, their breath mingled, heavy with the taste of the Antivan brandy.

Zevran watched Bannon's eyes. Shyly, the other elf kept his downcast. Bannon touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip, then leaned forward to kiss Zevran once more. The Antivan pulled away slightly. This made Bannon look up into his eyes. Zevran could see his pupils were dilated. Such dark, deep eyes one could fall into...

Gently, but firmly, he laid Bannon down. He bent and kissed the other elf deeply. Bannon embraced him, kissing him back. The Antivan ran a hand over his chest, down the lean musculature of his flank, to the crest of his hip. Slowly, he drew his hand up over the broad plain of the belly. He could feel a deep frisson within the city elf, almost as if an electrical charge were running through him.

Zevran pulled back, releasing the kiss. He looked down into Bannon's deep brown eyes. "You're trembling," he said softly.

"It's... I've never- I mean..." Dark lashes brushed his cheek as he lowered them. "I've had plenty of women in the Alienage, but..."

"Never another man?" The Antivan's smile widened slightly. "Then it is my great honor and privilege to be your first." He touched his lips to Bannon's, briefly; then the tip of his tongue. He bent to whisper in his ear, "Just relax. I will be gentle."

Bannon felt the tension drain out of him at the assassin's promise. It was a strange twist of fate that this man who had been paid to kill him was the one person in the world he trusted implicitly. The bond they shared went deeper than mere money or politics - or even gender.

He embraced Zevran, trailing his fingertips down the valley of the assassin's spine, drawing his hands over the broad planes of the Antivan's shoulders. It was different than touching a woman, strong and angular, not soft and rounded, but not unpleasant either.

Zevran kissed his neck and throat while Bannon tilted his head back and half-closed his eyes. The assassin continued down his body, kissing and licking. Bannon cupped Zevran's shoulders under his palms, feeling the play and shift of muscles under his hands.

A sudden pang of doubt shot through Bannon. He didn't think this was going to work.

Then the Antivan bent over him, and that thought - along with everything else - flew right out of Bannon's head. Using his hands and eminently talented mouth, Zevran worked his magic. Each touch of his tonguetip so precise, the pressure of his fingers so exact in application, like a master artist at his work. Bannon responded readily. His eyes drifted closed as he let wave after wave of pleasure wash over him. Zevran drew him taut, like a bowstring, then released him.

Tension flowed out of Bannon like water. Zevran pushed the unresisting elf onto his side and slotted up against him. Zevran levered up on his elbow and reached around for the massage oil. Bannon let him push his knee between the Denerim elf's legs and prepare him for coupling with the oil. He was really going to go through with this. The Antivan reined in his own excitement. _Take it slowly... Savor it._

"Good," he murmured in Bannon's ear as he embraced him. "Just relax. If it hurts for a second, do not worry; I promise I will make it feel very, _very_ good." He didn't wait for any acknowledgement, but pressed forward with the last drawn out word.

Bannon gasped as their bodies joined. Zevran nuzzled against his neck. The two elves were so similar in stature and physique, it was deliciously narcissistic making love together. Zevran embraced Bannon more tightly, melting into him, stroking the length of his body to feel the muscles sliding beneath the skin.

Zevran was careful not to bring his full weight to bear. This was a tender young virgin, and if he wanted to cultivate him as a long-term lover, it would take some care. Zevran shivered in anticipation and kept a tight leash on his passion. Which only stoked it higher. He reveled in the sheathing of his flesh within another. This was the closest bond he could achieve with another person. There was, of course, the sheathing of one's steel blade in another's body, but that tended to be over much more quickly.

Zevran drew his tongue up the back of Bannon's sensitive ear tip. The thief cried out and came quickly to climax. Zevran growled in pleasure and unleashed the culmination of his pursuit and conquest of this most elusive target.

Both elves lay panting a few moments before Zevran carefully withdrew. Bannon shivered again, and the assassin groped for a nearby towel to clean up with.

Bannon lay still a few more moments, recovering, his ears ringing. He'd never imagined it would be anything like this. Zevran hadn't been exaggerating his talents. A spark grew within his belly.

He rolled to encircle Zevran in his arms. The Antivan elf leaned against his side and bent to give him a soft, lingering kiss. The Denerim elf stroked his hair. "That was incredible," Bannon said, brushing his knuckles down Zevran's tattooed cheek.

The Antivan smiled. "I am glad it meets your approval."

Nothing more would stand in their way. Friends had become lovers, sharing trust and intimacy. No more barriers. The spark traveled up into his chest. "Will you talk to me now?"

Zevran shook his head. "No no, shhh." He kissed Bannon's eyelids. "There will be time for talk in the morning. Sleep now."

Bannon started to murmur a protest, but his body was exhausted, and his mind drifted easily into slumber.

Zevran sighed and pillowed his head on the Denerim elf's shoulder. He stroked Bannon's chest, idly admiring his newly-conquered territory before pulling the blankets up around them and succumbing to sleep.

===_X_===


	3. The Morning After

**The Morning After**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Mature

Flavor: Drama/Humor

Language: yes

Violence: no

Nudity: partial (m)

Sex: mentioned

Other: none

Author's Notes:

And then this happens.

* * *

**The Morning After**

===#===

"Wake up! Are you going to lie abed all day?"

Bannon groaned and rolled over, pushed himself to sit up. "Is it morning already?" He scratched his head and looked over at Zevran.

The assassin was already half dressed. "Yes, it is getting quite late. I did not know you were such a sound sleeper."

"I'm not. Not since..." Bannon frowned and shook his head. Since he drank darkspawn blood and had the Archdemon invade his head.

"Aha, you see!" Zevran grinned. "I told you I would help you relax. Zevran is as good as his word!"

Bannon groggily rubbed his face. "Yeah, toss me my pants, would you?"

The assassin obliged, then paused to savor the act of sliding his beloved Antivan leather boots onto his feet. "I knew this would happen. As soon as you failed to kill me, it was inevitable."

"What?" The bottom dropped out of Bannon's stomach. Had he planned this all along? Just picked Bannon out as his mark and set about seducing him? He focused on pulling on his pants while he collected himself.

Zevran pulled out a dagger and inspected the edge. "What can I say? My charms are irresistible."

"And that's it? You got what you wanted, now you're happy?" Bannon tugged at the laces of his fly.

"Mm, that pretty much sums it up," the assassin said with a careless air. "After all, my mother always said one must take pleasure whenever one can - you never know when it might be your last." He flipped the dagger and caught it with a jaunty smile, then ducked out of the tent.

Bannon stared a minute. What the hell was that? He threw on the rest of his clothes and went outside. The others were just rising, moving about in preparation for the day. The assassin had disappeared, probably gone to the latrine. Bannon turned to follow.

===#===

Alistair bent to roll up his bedroll and blankets. With a light ringing sound, ten silver coins bounced onto the maroon cloth. He looked up, only to see Morrigan walking away. He called after her, but she did not stop or look around. He scooped up the coins and went after her.

"Morrigan, wait."

"I have a lot to do, Alistair." She began directing Sandahl to which of her chests were packed for loading on the merchants' cart.

"You don't have to give me the money."

"Of course I do. I saw Zevran coming out of Bannon's tent this morning." She sniffed haughtily. "You win, fair and square, as they say."

Awkwardly, Alistair shrugged, and pocketed the coins. "Well... I'm sorry."

"There's no need for that. He's a grown man, he can make his own decisions." She turned and started repacking a box of potions for transport. "He can live with those decisions," she added darkly.

Alistair bit his lip. "Well. On the brighter side, maybe Zevran will stop flirting with the rest of us, finally."

Morrigan made an unladylike snort. "You can keep hoping."

===#===

Bannon caught up to the other elf at the edge of camp. "Zevran, wait. I want to talk to you."

"Oh, this already," the Antivan complained. He turned around, a sour look on his face.

"_What_ already?" Bannon demanded.

"The reason I usually keep this sort of thing on a strictly professional level... No attachments."

Bannon seethed. Professional sex, just like a whore - or an assassin seducing his targets. Was that it? "I just want to know what this means between us."

"Why should it mean anything? You are a handsome young man, and I took advantage of you. We both enjoyed it, so I really don't see what the problem is."

"You've never had sex with someone you were in love with?"

"No!" Zevran snapped. He paced in agitation. "I was born and raised in a whorehouse. What use have I for love?" He stopped suddenly and turned to Bannon. "Why, have you?"

Was that a note of accusation? Dammit, how could he have been so stupid? He knew what Zevran was like. Crows didn't have friends, let alone fall in- never mind. "Hell, no," he replied. And, thinking about all the women he'd been with, it was true enough. Zevran clearly didn't care about him, and Bannon couldn't admit what he'd been thinking. He felt humiliated enough as it was. "It doesn't mean anything to me either," he insisted, forcing a careless smile. "But the way you're acting... Look, I know I'm not as experienced as you are, but you sound like you regret it."

Zevran's demeanor changed instantly. The almost hostile tension left his shoulders and his voice unwound a few notches. "Oh, no; is not that. I have wanted a liaison with you for quite some time now. And I enjoyed it very much." He smiled lingeringly. "I would enjoy it again - if that is your wish. If not, well, on to other conquests, no?" He cocked his head a moment. Bannon's hesitation must have been clear on his face. Zevran shrugged. "I will leave it entirely up to you, _mi patrone_."

===#===

After washing up, Bannon joined the company at the fire and gratefully accepted a mug of hot tea from Leliana. She smiled impishly at him, and his stomach knotted. Did she know what he'd been doing last night? Maker, did they all know? He glanced around furtively, then ducked his head and sipped his tea too quickly, burning his tongue. He hissed a curse.

Alistair glared at the assassin, then looked at Bannon with concern. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," the elf insisted, perhaps a bit too firmly.

"Well, good. Good good good. I was worried."

Bannon frowned. "About what? Some lurid assassination plot?"

"Well, that's entirely possible," Zevran interjected. "Do you know, there are certain substances I can ingest that would do me no harm, but which could be killing you right now?"

Bannon felt his stomach turn. Suddenly, it hit him, the gross physicality of what the assassin had been doing with him last night. He set his mug down carefully, then fled the campfire in haste.

Zevran's laughter followed him. "I was joking! There is no such thing."

Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne stared at him. Zevran shook his head. "Did you see the look on his face?" He laughed again.

"Zevran, you're horrid," Leliana scolded him.

He just chuckled unrepentantly. "So I have been told, my dear."

===#===

Zevran came to find Bannon. "Now what?" Bannon griped. "Didn't we talk already?"

"_Si_, we did. I just came by to say I will stop teasing you now." The Antivan grinned insincerely.

"Great, thanks," Bannon said, sounding anything but grateful. "Did you have to tell everyone our business?"

"You think they didn't know?" Zevran cocked his head. "You have no idea how loud you were last night, do you?"

"Oh -!" Bannon turned red and hissed a curse. He put a hand over his face as the Antivan started laughing. "Andraste's Tits!"

With a struggle, Zevran restrained his mirth. "I'm sorry, I did say I would stop teasing you. But you Fereldan boys blush so easily!" He patted his friend's slumped shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure they are all quite jealous. Why, I consider it good advertisement!" Still laughing, he went off before Bannon could punch his face in.

Alistair came over. "Hey, Bannon."

"I am fine!" the elf snapped.

"Well, good," Alistair said, his own affability hardly punctured. "We're about ready to break camp. We should probably check over our supplies. The weather is getting a lot warmer."

Bannon looked up. "You didn't come over here to talk about..." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards his tent. Andraste's Tits, he felt like an idiot! Everyone else could see through Zevran's sleazy attitude and lascivious remarks. He was nothing but a cheap, shallow, self-centered, egotistical, immoral, dirty-minded, callous, irreverent son of a whore.

And... he was really, _really_ good at his job. Bannon shook himself.

Alistair looked pained a moment. "Uh," he said finally. "No."

===#===

The two headed back into camp. Bannon took a tally of the group's money, and inspected Bodahn's supplies. He and the dwarf chatted about what the group might need over the summer months.

"We're really heading to Lothering, then?" Bodahn asked.

"The rumors say it's clear."

"Yes, the rumors say."

Bannon shook his head. "Don't worry, if anything is amiss, we will not leave you behind."

The dwarf blinked a moment. He seemed at a loss for words. "Well. We can't be in better hands than the Grey Wardens'."

Bannon scrambled to pack up his own gear; he was the last one. Zevran managed to get his own tent struck and packed up while making Bannon late with fretting over the horrid jokes. Maker, that thing about the poison had better not be true. His stomach roiled again, and he decided forgoing breakfast would be best.

"We'll likely hit Lothering late this afternoon," Alistair pointed out.

"I don't want any of us going in there without scouting it, first."

"That's a good idea."

"And I want to check out this story about a golem in a nearby town," Bannon told him.

"Not that again. You know it's probably nothing."

"Yes, but it won't take long to just go look."

"Unless darkspawn have overrun the place."

"The trader didn't think so. Besides, if I sense any darkspawn, I'll turn around and head back."

"What, you're going by yourself?" asked Alistair.

"You think it's a waste of time, don't you?"

"Uh..."

"It'll waste more time if we all troop out there, with the donkey cart, and back. By myself, I'll move faster." He scooped up his pack and settled it on his shoulders, over his weapon harness.

Alistair chewed his lip. "You shouldn't go alone."

Zevran came up behind them. "I wouldn't mind going to see, myself."

Alistair jumped. "Are you sneaking up on people again?"

"What 'again'?" Zevran folded his arms and looked haughtily up at the Templar. "If I were ever sneaking up on you, you would never know it."

"Zev can come," Bannon said, interrupting another sniping match. "Sten, you want to go?" They could use the muscle if they did encounter any trouble, with the added bonus that Sten wouldn't want to talk about... what had happened last night.

Sten asked, "Will we encounter darkspawn?"

"Hopefully not."

"Then it is a foolish waste of time."

"Great. Morrigan? How about you?" Someone to blow up things would also come in handy.

"A foolish endeavor, and you think of me?" Morrigan arched one brow. "I'm touched."

"Imagine how much fun you can have saying 'I told you so' and laughing," he cajoled.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, then, how can I resist?"

Then Leliana said, "I would like to go as well."

Bannon chewed his lip. Crap, he'd wanted Morrigan and Zevran to talk about assassinating Flemeth. He knew the bard had been a one time spy, perhaps an assassin herself, but she seemed the pious Chantry Sister these days. He didn't think matricide would go over well with her.

Wynne said, "It isn't wise for anyone to go."

"Maybe I should go," Alistair said. "I don't want you running off and getting killed, and leaving me the only Grey Warden left."

"No, Alistair. You're in charge of this half of the expedition."

"Me?"

"You'll have to practice being in charge sometime." The elf patted him on the shoulder. "Start small."

"Shouldn't I go with you?" Wynne asked.

"What if you need a healer?" Alistair added.

Bannon huffed a breath. "Look. Not everybody is going! Me, Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan. That's it. We have healing potions and a witch. The rest of you finish packing up and then head out along the highway. If we don't catch up before you get to Lothering, wait for us."

Looking like a sad puppy, Alistair said, "What if you never come back?"

"Stop thinking doom and gloom," Bannon complained.

"What? After what happened in the last mountain town we visited?"

The elf palmed his face. "We're going. You're going. It'll be fine!" He turned and headed out with a rapid stride before anyone else could argue. Zevran trotted at his heels; the ladies followed at their own brisk pace.

===#===

Alistair frowned as Bannon set off with his small group. He shook his head and wondered maybe, just maybe it would have been better for Morrigan to have won that bet...

"Well," he said, trying not to let the 'being in charge' thing get to him. "We don't have to rush or anything, but what's left to get done?"

Wynne set about to clean the pots while Sten doused the fire and buried the ashes.

Alistair puttered around with his pack and bedroll. Thank the Maker Bannon had struck his own tent and stuff, so the dwarves could load it onto the cart. He'd been trying not to think about it all morning, despite Zevran's lewdness, Leliana's sly looks, Morrigan's payment, and everything else; but it was like an insistent dog wanting treats. Bannon... and Zevran. Seriously?

He hadn't even known the elf was, well, like that. He'd never said anything to Alistair. Had he? Well, no. Zevran was pretty obvious, but Bannon? Noooo. He shook his head as he shouldered his pack. It must be an elf thing, he mused.

Then he started thinking about what Zevran had once asked - what about those two guys in the Templars? Well, _no_. Templars were chaste. And besides, they hadn't acted like... well... like a boyfriend and girlfriend! Just friends! Hanging out, laughing together, sparring, boasting, annoying each other... being friendly. _Just_ friendly!

Sten came up and towered in front of him, interrupting his wildly meandering thoughts. "Are we going to encounter darkspawn?"

"If I told you 'yes,' would that put a big smile on your face?" he asked the qunari hopefully.

"No."

The Templar shrugged. "Then probably not. But you never know."

===_X_===


	4. To Honnleath

**To Honnleath**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama/Humor  
Language: some  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: none  
Sex: discussed  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

See the amazing Grey Wardens, who can walk and talk at the same time! Oh, I put some fighting in here, too.

_Recap:_

The Wardens retrieved the Sacred Ashes from Haven, letting the local dragon take care of the local crazy cultists. Eamon was cured by the holy substance and wasted no time in drawing up a plan of action against Loghain. He tried to insist that Alistair remain safe at Redcliffe, but neither Bannon nor Alistair wanted that to happen. Now the group is on their way along the southern Imperial Highway to head into the Brecilian forest, and if Lothering is clear, they may take a detour to Ostagar to find evidence of Loghain's sedition.

Meanwhile, Bannon ended up with a magical control rod for a golem that is supposedly located in a town to the south called Honnleath. He took Zevran, Leliana, and Morrigan with him on a little side trip to check it out. Later, they'll meet back up with Alistair and the others before Lothering.

* * *

**To Honnleath**

===#===

Morrigan walked ahead with Bannon, her long strides purposeful, while Zevran and Leliana lagged behind. Bannon was engrossed in his own thoughts, until the witch spoke to him. "Do you still fear me?"

"Uh... should I?"

"No games, Bannon. Just give me a straight answer."

He glanced at her haughty profile. "You say 'no games,' but that's the question you lead with?"

"From your reluctance to give an answer, I surmise it is indeed 'yes.'"

"Look, my answer is the same as before. I have a healthy respect for you and your power."

"And if I had no power? What then?"

He frowned to himself, wondering what kind of question that was. "Well... you'd still be a formidable woman." Usually flattery and fear placated the witch. Somehow, he sensed she wasn't satisfied with these answers. "Look, Morrigan, what do you want?"

"I'm simply curious as to the current status of our relationship."

"I don't think anything has changed," he said cautiously.

"And my plans..." She glanced about for prying ears. "Concerning my mother?"

Bannon glanced over his shoulder, to where Leliana and Zevran were leaning close and giggling. He frowned, but put it out of his mind. "Those plans are progressing, don't worry."

With a quirked brow, she followed his momentary look at the assassin. "I see." She cast her eyes forward again. "Do you find them appalling?"

"Appalling?" He shook his head, bringing his thoughts into focus. "What I find appalling is her plans towards you. You don't deserve to be treated that way."

"Oh?" A flash of surprise cleared the harshness from her face. "Is that why...?"

"Why what?"

"Why your price for this venture was so low?"

He could have gotten more? Damn. "I... didn't want to insult you. I mean..."

"You find me too proud to accept charity."

He shrugged, relieved she'd untangled that for herself.

"I like you, Bannon. I hope you realize that." She looked at him, her golden gaze open and direct.

"Oh, of course." He swallowed. "That means a great deal to me, Morrigan." His eyes tried to escape her intent scrutiny, and noticed a carved figure hanging from a leather thong on her staff. "Is that...?"

She smiled. "A very small start to my future demon army."

"I thought you didn't like it."

"I admit to being startled to receive such a gift. Made by your own hand."

"Um, you can't use it to do any strange witch magic to me, can you?"

She frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

"Hey, I'm just joking!"

"Mmm. Like that crack about me laughing at this fool mission."

"You have to admit, that was funny."

"Actually, I don't." Her straight face was impeccable.

"Well... You're here."

At that, she loosened up and actually chuckled. "So I am." She cocked her head. "You don't come to my fire any more. I rather miss our little chats."

"I do too," he agreed. "Things have been a little crazy. And... well, I know you like to keep your distance. I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You may consider yourself as having an open invitation to my fireside any time you desire."

"I'm honored, Morrigan." Bannon looked off past the side of the road, feeling a bit awkward. Then he said, "You know, speaking of doomed fools' missions, I have a favor to ask. In the interest of not wasting our time."

"Hmm?

"I was thinking you could fly ahead, scout around?" He gave her a beseeching look. "See if there even is a golem? See if the place isn't overrun by darkspawn?"

She stopped and pondered this a moment. "Yes, a wise idea."

Bannon stepped back to give her room to complete the transformation. In moments, her raven form took off over the trees. Now for the part Bannon had been dreading - having to talk to the assassin. Maker only knew what he'd been telling Leliana. _Innocent Chantry nun, my ass._

"Morrigan's gone to scout ahead," he called to them. He spied a wooden fence bordering part of the road and went to sit on it. The other two ambled over to join him.

"The Summer Solstice is coming up," Leliana said. "We should do something to celebrate."

Bannon rubbed his head behind his ear, then combed his hair back into place. "I'll have to see what our budget is."

"It need not be anything fancy. Perhaps a prayer and a hymn."

"Oh, that sounds exciting," Zevran said, not making the slightest effort to sound at all interested. "Do you not have a grand Summer Festival here?"

"Yes, we do," Bannon told him. "In the alienage, we have a big celebration. Mmm, and sugar candy." He smiled fondly, but Leliana, for some reason, looked alarmed. Then again, the last time he had candy, that insufferable assassin had stolen it. "What kind of festival do they have in Orlais?" he asked, before said insufferable assassin could start blabbering about the Antivan celebrations.

"In Orlais, we decorate the streets with flowers in preparation for the Solstice. By day, we have a flower parade, and then at night there is a great candlelight procession. We go to the Chantry to sing hymns of praise to the Maker." She smiled wistfully. "It is truly beautiful. I was once able to participate in the procession at the Val Royeaux cathedral. There were so many people, we did not get to go in, but circled the outside in rows nine deep. The stained glass glowed like magical jewels. And the pipe organ they have there! I thought it would shake the very stones to the foundation." She bowed her head. "Truly, it seemed our voices raised in harmony could rouse the Maker. If only people were able to muster that sort of unity all the time."

Bannon thought about the strife in Ferelden, the civil war in the face of the Blight. He shook his head. Would the elves of Denerim even be able to celebrate this year? They seemed to have precious little to be happy about. Yet that was life in the alienage. You celebrated the festival because without it, life was nothing but one long slog into a cold grave.

Shianni was always chipper - sometimes infuriatingly so. She would see to it that at least their block would have flowers. Bannon frowned slightly. If her spirit hadn't been broken completely. He'd remained silent too long, and on cue, Zevran eagerly jumped in.

"In Antiva, the highlight of the Summer Festival is the Grand Masquerade. Everyone wears a mask, and for one night, they are free of themselves. They can drink, they can dance, they can have a tryst with whomever they please!" He waved his hands in the air in mime, bouncing excitedly on the fence rail. Then he leered at Leliana and Bannon. "No sins, no remorse, no messy entanglements. 'Tis truly paradise, no? We should do that." He grinned.

"I don't think so, Zevran," Leliana said.

"Hm, well," the Antivan continued, hardly daunted. "I am a Summer Child, you know. I shall be another year older this Solstice."

"A Summer Child?" Leliana asked him. "What does that mean?"

"That is how we elves keep track of our age. Children born in the summer count their years at the Summer Festival."

Bannon said, "When the shems want to-"

Leliana interrupted him. "Bannon, that's very rude."

"What?"

"Do I go about saying 'when the knife-ears do this' and 'knife-ears do that'? No, I do not."

"Uh, sorry." Bannon ducked his head sheepishly. Right, don't call the shems 'shems.' "When the bann takes a census of the elves in the alienage, they want to know how old everyone is."

"Do you not have birthdays?"

Bannon shrugged. He recalled that there was a day in late winter when his mother would tell him the Maker had given her a gift - her baby boy. They would always do something special on that day: a trip to the market or the docks, a long story at bedtime.

After she'd been gone... He didn't even remember what day it had been. He shoved those memories aside. He didn't need to be getting maudlin right now.

He frowned to himself. Only shems were rich and privileged enough that they could have a special, personalized holiday. Vaughn was especially fond of holding big parties for his birthday. He hired a lot of elves. Bannon had tried to get hired one year, just to see inside the estate. After hearing some of the horror stories about Vaughn's humiliation of the elven servants, Bannon never tried again. The elves still went, though, each year. The pay was too good to resist.

Zevran answered the nun, with his usual cheerful carelessness. "No, we cannot be bothered having special days with children demanding presents and sweets on just any time of the year."

Leliana frowned. She seemed to change her mind about saying something, though.

Never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Zevran went on. "You know, in Antiva, it is traditional on one's birthday to bed as many people as you have years." He leered at the nun again.

To which she said, "I don't think that would be possible with our small company."

"No," Bannon quipped, "he really is five years old."

"Shut up!" Zevran tried to aim a smack at him, but couldn't reach with Leliana sitting between them. She batted his arm away.

"I can see why Antivans don't live very long." Bannon jumped up from the fence just as Zevran did so, preparing for a scuffle.

"Don't st-" Leliana started. "Oh, why do I bother?"

"They overexert themselves and keel over," Bannon continued with his teasing.

"And you Fereldans! You grow so old and cranky and very, _very_ unfulfilled."

"Zevran, you're horrible," Leliana chided.

He turned to her. "I most certainly am not! I am _very_ good. In fact, I think Bannon's exact word was 'incredible.'"

Bannon's face heated. "Zevran! Shut up!" That urge to punch the little weasel came back full force, and he turned away. "Look, Morrigan is back." He strode over to meet the witch.

Morrigan alighted and regained her human form in a swirl of ethereal sparks. She panted a bit, as if she'd been running.

"Is everything all right?" Bannon asked in worry.

She gestured to his pack. "Water."

Now even more worried, he dug out his waterskin. "Are they chasing you?" He peered past her down the road, but it was empty. How much trouble could one raven get into?

"No, 'tis fine," she said after taking a long drink. "'Tis quite tiring to go back and forth using but one's arms."

"I'm sorry, Morrigan; I should have been more thoughtful."

The others gathered around. "What did you see?"

"Nothing living, save a few birds."

"Any signs of darkspawn?"

"Signs, yes. They were clearly here. But I saw none now."

Curiosity prompted Leliana to press, "And the golem?"

Morrigan pursed her lips and took another drink of water while considering her answer. "I saw a stone figure in the square. Rather crude and ugly for a statue. It may be this fabled golem of yours."

This was going to be easy! No darkspawn to battle, no townspeople to stop them from taking the golem... "Let's check it out," Bannon said brightly.

"It could still be a waste of time," Morrigan said. She capped the waterskin and slung it over her shoulder. "I circled low over this statue and saw nothing indicating it could be alive."

"Well, you didn't have _this_." Bannon pulled the control rod from his belt and brandished it theatrically.

Morrigan quirked a brow. From behind him, Bannon heard snickering. He shot a glance back to find Leliana's cheeks reddening in a heroic effort not to laugh. Zevran was less successful.

Bannon slumped and put the rod away. "Come on."

===#===

The four of them traveled down a lane bordered by a stone wall. Or at least Bannon thought there was a stone wall, it was overgrown with honeysuckle, and the sweet scent filled the air.

At the bottom of the lane, they turned left. The town's modest gates were open. Hanging from the wooden cross post were two corpses. The stench of decay overpowered the honeysuckle. Bannon and Leliana covered their noses as they passed. Flies buzzed around the remains, and a handful of tenacious crows perched on the shoulders, pecking at any softened flesh they could find.

"Did the darkspawn do this?" Leliana asked as they skirted the grisly sight.

"We saw this in the Wilds," Bannon said. "But we couldn't tell if it was darkspawn or Chasind."

"The Chasind despise trespassers," Morrigan said, "but I've never seen them do this. Mother may know more."

"I don't think the Chasind came to town," Bannon mused. He looked around - _felt_ around - for any other signs of darkspawn.

Zevran said to Morrigan, "Did you not stop for a snack with your crow buddies? Perhaps they could have told you."

"Raven," she corrected with tired impatience. "You're the one with the 'Crow buddies.'"

"Hah!" Bannon shot a look at the assassin, but Zevran only laughed along with the barb. He was really an insufferable twerp. "Which way to the square?" Bannon asked Morrigan.

She led them up a meandering lane. The town was eerily silent; not even a cat or dog roamed the streets. There were dried smears and brownish stains here and there on the cobblestones. Hung upon one door like a holiday wreath was a crude totem made of rib bones.

At the top of the rise, the street opened into a broad oval with shops all around. In the center was a grassy sward protected by a low wooden railing. In the center stood a crude stone figure, its back arched, its head back, and arms raised outward, as if it were screaming at the sky. Half a dozen birds perched on it. It really was too ugly for a statue, but it had some crystals embedded in it - perhaps some raw gemstones?

Bannon stepped over the knee-high rail, Zevran behind him, while the women opted to move around to the opening. Bannon pulled out the rod and waved it around his head. "Shoo!"

The birds dispersed in a flurry of flapping wings.

"You make a deliciously handsome mage," Zevran said. "Though your staff is rather... short."

"Shut up." Bannon looked at the rod and then up at the golem. Unsure what, exactly, he was supposed to do with the rod, he just gripped it firmly and said, "_Dulak haigh_." When that didn't work, he pointed the rod at the golem and said it again, a bit more loudly.

Still nothing happened.

Zevran said, "Perhaps you need to perform an arcane gesture. Try waving it around while you hop on one leg."

"Shut up."

"Oh, I know! Perhaps you need to insert the rod into the golem." The Antivan gestured.

"Zevran!" came Leliana's shocked cry.

He turned to her. "I only meant like a key, my dear," he protested in false innocence. "Though wherever your mind went just then, we should revisit it in my tent later." He leered.

"Shut up," Bannon growled, tempted to clobber the damned fool with the rod. Though that would probably damage the rod. He speculated on jumping the assassin, but various parts of his mind and body had different ideas on how that ought to go. He shoved those thoughts aside. "Morrigan, do you have any ideas?"

"The same as I've had since we started. Is this the part where I get to say, 'I told you s-'"

Bannon threw down the rod and pulled out his swords. "Darkspawn!"

The others dropped the snide comments and drew their own weapons.

"Where?" Zevran started, but Bannon had already leapt the rail and ran to the door of one of the buildings. He kicked it in, catching a hurlock in the face with it. A dual stab to the weak parts in its armor sent it howling to the floor. Two more crowded the doorway.

"You're in the way," Morrigan called with calm detachment.

"I can hold them, just wait!" Bannon sensed more darkspawn inside the building... below? This was a perfect choke point to keep them from flanking him and rushing out to attack everyone at once.

The only flaw in his plan: he had to face the darkspawn swords head on. He could parry well enough, but scoring a hit was another matter. Zevran waited, poised on the balls of his feet at Bannon's right, but he could not close with the enemy. The choke point worked both ways.

Something hissed over Bannon's head, and a crossbow bolt bloomed in the hurlock's face. Good thing he was so short! He jumped forward and engaged the second hurlock.

"Get ready!" he yelled.

Zevran pressed against the wall by the door, crouched down out of sight and ready to leap in behind whatever came out. Bannon waited long enough for Leliana to reload, then leapt aside. The hurlock overextended and stumbled out of the doorway. Bannon's sword caught it across the back of the neck, dropping it in a heap.

Three genlocks boiled out, snarling and gnashing their teeth. A bolt caught the middle one in the skull, hurling it onto its back. That attracted the other two's attention, and the peppering of mage bolts held it as Bannon and Zevran moved in behind to fell them.

The middle genlock on the ground still squealed and thrashed around, despite its brain being perforated. Bannon stabbed it in the throat and signaled everyone that it was clear. For now.

"Are there more?" Morrigan asked as everyone regrouped at the doorway.

"Yeah. Somewhere inside, I think. We should get the hell out of-" A faint cry of _Help! Help us! We're down here!_ interrupted him. "Shit."

"Getting out of here is still a good plan," Morrigan said.

Bannon was tempted, but... Leliana brushed past them all to investigate. He shrugged and followed her. "Come on."

The place appeared to be a store. Several rows of raw crystal clumps sat on the counter and the shelves behind it. Perhaps it was a local product. Bannon acquired a few just in case.

Zevran checked the back room but found neither darkspawn nor victims. Leliana cocked an ear and moved to the fireplace. "Hello?" The cries were coming through the flue. "There must be another fireplace in the basement."

The group found the door to the stairs and descended. "There aren't that many," Bannon said, relieved that this pocket of darkspawn seemed as small as the first group. At the base of the stairs, they turned down a hall. Morrigan and Leliana hung back while Bannon and Zevran crept ahead to investigate the doorway.

Sounds of growling, a crash, and more screams covered the creak of the hinges as Bannon nudged the door open. Inside, a mixed group of half a dozen or so hurlocks and genlocks faced a glowing energy barrier. Beyond huddled a group of humans that held their salivating attention.

The big hurlock mage growled another incantation and hurled a fireball at point blank range. Still, the barrier held.

Bannon gestured for Leliana and Morrigan to hold back. The bard loosened her sword in its scabbard and readied the crossbow. One shot, then she'd jump into the fray. Bannon looked across at Zevran and tipped his head. The thief and assassin snuck into the room, hugging opposite walls. Whoever got in striking range of the mage would score the best points, but it was not to be. The other darkspawn crowded too close.

Bannon glanced across at Zevran, who'd also stopped as close as he could without alerting their targets. Their eyes met. Zevran grinned and leapt at the darkspawn. Bannon lunged forward with a roar to alert the others to come charging in. He swept his swords out in two arcs, catching a brace of genlocks in the neck.

He calculated which way the hurlock beyond would turn, went the opposite direction, and hamstrung the beast on his way to the mage. He didn't slow down; he kept his eyes on the prize.

A bolt in the shoulder spun the hurlock and interrupted its eerie chanting. It raised an axe just as Bannon leapt, but a blast of icy wind ripped over them, leaving the darkspawn frozen and the elf's armor frost-rimmed.

He crashed into the beast, throwing it to the floor in a tinkle of broken bits that flew off. It didn't completely shatter as he'd hoped, so he raised his swords and brought the hilts smacking down on the thing's skull. This was a lot easier with Wynne's stone fist or one swing of Sten's maul, but they could improvise. Bannon felt Zevran standing at his back, fending off the other darkspawn, so he concentrated on what he was doing.

It didn't take them long to mop up this small group. The buzzing-itching sensation in Bannon's brain died out as well. There weren't any more darkspawn nearby.

The group approached the barrier. The townspeople within looked haggard and worn, but they seemed to be surviving quite well. They clamored at the Warden's group, praising the Maker, thanking their saviors, asking question upon question about what was going on, where was their bann, have they seen this person or that in the town.

"All right, _hold it!_" Bannon yelled at them all. They quieted; them, a bunch of shems, shut up by an elf. He'd never get used to that. "We're Grey Wardens." He didn't bother making a distinction about his companions. "I'm sorry, but everyone else in town has either fled, or..." He glanced at Morrigan. She'd said the darkspawn ate people, dragged the corpses off. "Gone."

There was more wailing, more questions. Bannon overrode them. "The entire south has been evacuated. You must prepare to leave. Don't you have a leader?" From the confusion and milling about, he figured the answer was no. "Well, someone has to step up." He turned to the bard. "Leliana, help them organize."

She nodded. "Who knows where we can find supplies? Who knows where there is some transport?" She moved among the people, keeping her voice calm and quiet, quelling their panic.

While she worked on that, he continued on with business. "We came here seeking a golem to aid the Wardens against the Blight. Does anyone have any information on it?"

"Warden...!" A man approached him. From the look of worry on his face, Bannon knew this was going to be bad. "Please, you must help me. My daughter - she's run off further into the basement, past the other wards."

Bannon didn't know what part of the Grey Warden legends made him a finder of lost children. "Why can't you go find her?"

"I tried." He held out a bandaged arm. "I was attacked by fearsome wraiths. That was my father's laboratory; he warded it with the barriers to keep the guardians in."

Morrigan, ever helpful, said, "If you cannot get past them, your child is most likely dead."

"No, please!" His eyes went watery. "She-she could have hidden or - I don't know! Something! I can't stand the thought of her being trapped down there, huddled in a dark cupboard, afraid and crying... It will drive me mad if I don't try to do something. Please, at least find her, one way... or another. Then I'll tell you about the golem."

"You know about the golem?" Bannon asked.

"How convenient," Zevran commented.

"Look, my father was Wilhelm the mage, a hero of the revolution. That golem was his; he was constantly ordering it around with that control rod."

"You know how the control rod works?" Bannon asked, interest piqued anew.

"There's some magic word," the man said. "It might be in the notes in my father's lab."

This guy was canny, Bannon thought. He didn't like being pressured into any deal, but how hard would it be to mop up some wraiths? "All right, I left the rod outside by the golem. Meet us there."

"I won't go near it," the man insisted. "I always feel it... watching me." He shuddered.

"Well, I don't supposed anyone will bother it," Bannon conceded. "We'll go find your daughter and be back. What's her name?"

"Missy."

"All right." Bannon turned to see if Leliana was finished directing the others. They had at last started heading out of the basement. "Come on." He turned towards the first barrier.

"Well I'm not going," Morrigan sniffed.

"Why not?" Bannon looked back, letting the bard and assassin test the barrier. "There's demons. Your favorite!"

She gave him an evil look.

So much for her sense of humor. "Fine, wait here. But you can't go back to the others until you're sure we're dead, and we could linger for weeks. And you'll be stuck here, alone, bored, and unable to say 'I told you-'"

"Oh, all right!"

Morrigan stalked forward, probably just to get him to shut up. Well, it worked for Bannon.

===_X_===


	5. Kitty

**Kitty**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: none  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

None, really. See the amazing Bloodsong shut up for once!

* * *

**Kitty**

===#===

The companions passed an underground cistern, and went on into a workroom. Several ash wraiths attacked, but the group handled them without any trouble. It was quite different from when Bannon had started. He'd been so desperate and overmatched when he'd faced Vaughn. If only he could go back. He wouldn't mind killing that bastard all over again.

The laboratory was cleaner and much more pleasant than Avernus's. Less cluttered. And hell, less macabre. Bannon looked through some loose parchments on the counter, wondering if he'd know the golem command phrase if he saw it. There were notes aplenty, and a journal, a few crystals, but that was all.

"What did Wilhelm need wraiths to protect?" Bannon scoffed.

"Users of magic can be very possessive and secretive about their work," Morrigan said. She turned back the pages on an open ledger. "They jealously guard their power. Their grimoires are their most prized possession."

"Well, take anything you find useful," he encouraged her. "Let me know if you find any magic words for the control rod."

Meanwhile, Leliana was opening the lower cupboards and chests, calling for the child, Missy. No child answered or appeared, and Bannon began to fear they'd only find a small corpse.

"There is another doorway here," Zevran said. "And more stairs leading down."

"She must have run down there," Leliana said.

"There is another glowing wall," the Antivan pointed out.

"Well it must allow people to pass through, just like the other one."

"Hang on," Bannon said, before she could charge down there. "Zevran, you go through it, and then come back. Just to make sure we won't get trapped."

"As you like."

Without hesitation or complaint, the assassin went to do as he was ordered. Bannon frowned. Well, he wasn't going to feel guilty about it. It's not like he'd leave Zevran trapped down there forever. They could go get Wilhelm's son if that happened.

But no, Zevran passed both ways through the barrier without any trouble at all.

===#===

The group went down the stairs and through another doorway, into a wide basement room. In contrast to the neat laboratory, this had piles of dusty, cobweb-strewn junk lying everywhere. Metalwork, gears, rods; they were large, some pieces the size of a plow. Bannon felt uneasy moving among them. Then he realized why: they looked a lot like bones; pieces of skeletons scattered about an old battlefield.

"This must be where Wilhelm's real work was done," Morrigan commented.

"What was he doing?"

"Substitutiary locomotion."

Bannon just stared blankly.

"He was trying to create another golem."

"Missy?" Leliana called out.

"I'm here! Come say hello, Kitty." A little girl came around from behind a metal ribcage, followed by a cream coloured cat.

The bard crouched down to speak to her. "Missy, your father is worried sick about you. It's safe now. We can return to him."

"No, I can't. I can't leave Kitty all alone."

The cat in question sat on its haunches and stared at them with disconcerting intensity.

Morrigan said, "Well fetch your beast so we can be away."

Leliana turned her head. "Morrigan, I think I should handle the child."

"By all means."

Missy said, "Kitty says she can't leave. Not until we turn off the magic door. I've been trying, but grandpa made the puzzle too hard."

"You're trapped by the barrier?" Bannon asked. "But we didn't have any trouble...!" He looked back in alarm. If they were all stuck down here now...!

"Not _me_," the girl insisted. "Kitty! And I'm not leaving without her."

"_This is true,_" said a cool, sultry voice. The cat stood up and paced towards them. "_Missy will never leave me. She loves me._" Eerie light gleamed from golden eyes.

Bannon stared, unable to blink. He half turned to the assassin, his eyes glued to the cat. "Is that cat... talking? The cat... it's talking. You're seeing this, right?"

Zevran, too, seemed stunned. "In all my years...," he breathed; "among assassins and whores... I have never seen a talking p- OW!"

Leliana smacked him, which was a good thing. Bannon was still frozen, trying to figure out the talking animal. Here, in the waking world? He was awake, right? Could Sloth _still_ have him trapped, fooled into dreaming he was awake?

Morrigan sighed. "'Tis a demon, you idiots."

"I knew that." Bannon moved forward. "Missy, get away from there! It's dangerous!" He held out his hands, prepared to grab the girl, while Zevran and Leliana drew their weapons.

"No!" The girl scooped the cat up and hugged it to her chest. "Don't hurt Kitty!"

"That's a demon!"

"She's my Kitty! I won't let you hurt her." She screwed up her face in fierce determination.

Kitty hung in the child's arms, legs dangling, tailtip slowly curling one way, then the other. "_I told you, she loves me. Wholly, completely. The bonds of such love can never be broken._"

_Well, ain't love a bitch?_ thought Bannon. He motioned his troops back. Zevran put his long blades away, but kept his hands near the daggers on his belt. To the demon, Bannon said, "All right, what do you want?"

"_To love, and to be loved. Isn't that what everyone wants?_"

He grimaced. He didn't want to talk about love. His eye was drawn down the cat's elongated belly, to the nubs of the teats poking through the fur. They were decidedly purple. Gah! He squeezed his eyes shut. Damned desire demons! "Just cut to the chase. Her father wants his little girl back."

"_The mage created a barrier, through which my kind may not pass. The controls to disable it are over there, but the child was unable to figure them out._"

"You don't know, either?"

"_It is also warded against my kind._"

Well, he could stall them, anyway. "All right, so you want us to let you out, free to roam the world?"

Leliana said, "We should not be treating with this demon."

"_I only want to stay with Missy._"

Bannon looked at the bard. "You want us to get the kid out, don't you?"

She frowned. "Do you swear, you will not harm her?" she asked the cat.

"_Of course I would not. I love her._"

While this exchange was going on, Bannon glanced at Morrigan, gave her a meaningful look. She lowered her brows a fraction and gave a faint nod. She shifted her grip on her staff. Good, she was ready.

"Show me this control to open the barrier," he told the demon.

The cat narrowed its eyes at him. "_Do I have your word you will free me?_"

"Since that's the only way we're getting out of here," Bannon insisted.

"_Very well. Set me down, my dear._"

"Then we can all go home together?"

"_Yes, my pet._"

"Then you can meet Mommy and Daddy, won't they be amazed you can talk! And you can sleep on my bed, and drink milk from a bowl..."

Bannon refrained from gritting his teeth; he just kept a pleasant smile on his face. He had to get the cat away from the girl. But Missy just skipped along, babbling, as the cat led him to the back of the room. On the wall was a massive contraption of metal rings, gears, and levers. How in the Blackened City was he supposed to figure out how to work it?

He turned back to his companions, who had gathered around behind him. "Anybody got any ideas?"

Missy apparently did. "You move the things that move! And then the other things move, but you need to make a pattern."

Yeah, that was helpful. "Can you show me what you tried?"

Yes! The cat stayed put while the girl went to climb up on a bucket to reach the contraption. Bannon saw Morrigan's staff move, out of the corner of his eye, and he jumped away.

The cat turned; Morrigan chanted the spell; the cat hissed and crouched to leap; the ice bolt sped towards it. It froze the cat solid, but not before the demon streamed out of its nose and mouth and flew over to Missy. The vaporous form clamped over the girl's face, knocking her back. The next thing Bannon knew, the demon was gone, and the kid was screaming and launching herself into him. He fell heavily to the floor, and she clawed at his eyes.

He started yelling and tried to push her away. Then there was a wash of heated air, and the girl's screams drowned his out. He shoved her over. She staggered, twitching like a mad thing, while the flames licked at her clothing and flesh. She spun around, screaming with an inhuman timbre, and finally collapsed, jerking and thrashing.

Bannon could barely see. Crimson flooded his eyes. "OW!"

"Let me see!" Someone - Leliana - put her hands on him, pulled his down, away from his face. "Oh sweet Maker!"

"Fucking OW!"

"Here, _amico_." Zevran pressed a small bottle into his hand. "Take this."

Bannon drained the health potion. "Ow! _Shit!_"

"Lie still a moment and let it work." Leliana guided him gently back on the floor.

Bannon tried to close his eyes, but that hurt worse. Maker, did she rip his eyes right out? Was he blinded? _Shit!_ He thrashed, because either the healing potion wasn't working, or the healing was making everything hurt worse. Someone grabbed his wrists and held him down. Zevran? That damned-! No. No, Bannon was grateful.

After a few minutes, he could see better, at least out of his left eye. Leliana put a bandage over the other one, tied it firmly into place, eliciting more imaginative curses. "We will need to have Wynne look at that."

"Thank you," he croaked. Yes, Wynne. Thank the Maker she was with the Wardens.

===#===

Bannon tried to get to his feet, but Leliana insisted he rest a bit more. Zevran remained by his side. Leliana went back to the laboratory to find something to cover the girl's body. Morrigan went with her after Leliana berated the witch for setting the kid on fire. They had a loud argument.

"Mm," Zevran mused; "'tis quite the cat-fight you are missing. Shall I describe it in lurid detail to you?"

"No."

"You are not going to let this injury make you all surly and bitter, are you? Think what a dashing pirate you will make!"

"Zevran, I'm going to kill you."

The Antivan just sighed.

When the women returned, Leliana tearfully said a few words of the Chant over the charred remains. Then they headed back upstairs.

"Zevran," Bannon growled, shoving at the solicitous elf, "I'm blind, not lame. I can walk on my own!"

"Are you sure, _amico?_ I could guide your steps."

"I _can_ see where I'm going." They stopped at the cistern so Bannon could wash the blood from his face. He was feeling much better. The pain receded into a throbbing ache. Hopefully between the healing draught, his Grey Warden abilities, and Wynne's magic, he'd be good as new.

Before they resumed, he turned to Morrigan. "Thank you, for saving me. That demon was really pissed."

"You're welcome."

He could sense Leliana's glare in his direction, but he didn't look over. She remained silent. Well, he couldn't keep everyone in his merry little band happy all at once, could he? He had to pick his battles.

The basement was empty when they got there, but they found Missy's father upstairs in the shop. Hope kindled in his eyes for only a brief moment. The absence of his child, and the bloody bandage on the Grey Warden's head told the whole story.

"I'll handle this," Bannon said to Leliana. Silently, she dropped back. He went to the man.

"So then..." Hoarseness clogged the man's throat.

"I'm sorry," Bannon said quietly. "The demons are gone, now. But they had already killed her before we got there."

Missy's father nodded. He put one hand over his face, but he struggled to contain his grief. "Thank you, Warden. At least... I know you tried."

"It was a tragic accident. But there was nothing you or anyone else could have done." Bannon clasped him firmly on the shoulder.

"I suppose you want that golem now, too."

"If it could be any help at all..."

"And good riddance to it! Take it away, and Maker grant I never see it again. 'Turoth Stane' is the command phrase."

First the trader wanted to give the rod away for free, and now the golem's owner couldn't wait to get rid of it? This was bad, very bad. "Why are you so eager to give it to us? -Not that I'm complaining."

"That thing killed my father," the man said.

"The mage who owned it?" Bannon glanced back at Morrigan. She didn't comment. "But... he had the control rod."

"No one knows what happened. Just one day, we heard a horrible, horrible noise outside... When we got there, my father was dead, crushed to a pulp, and that thing! It was standing over him, frozen, just as it is now. It hasn't moved since. I don't want it, or anything to do with it. Maker, we had to carry father to his pyre in shovels!" Now he broke down, crying.

"We'll make sure it never hurts anyone but darkspawn ever again," Bannon vowed. He made a nonchalantly hasty exit.

===_X_===

* * *

_End Notes:_

"Substitutiary locomotion."  
\- 1,000 Bloodsong points for the _Bedknobs &amp; Broomsticks_ fans! Got to love medieval knights kicking Nazi butt.

"Come say hello, Kitty."  
\- NO! No Hello Kitty... no. That was just... that just happened.


	6. The Golem

**The Golem**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Drama/Adventure  
Language: maybe  
Violence: mentioned  
Nudity: none  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I'm not always sure what to do with characters that aren't participating in a (heated) discussion. Is it okay to just leave them out of it and presume they're standing around? Should I pay more attention to positioning them before I leave them to their own devices?

_Recap:_

Bannon and his three companions found the lost little girl, along with a demon possessing a cat. They tried to kill the cat, but the demon leapt into the girl and attacked Bannon, and Morrigan immolated her.

While the survivors of Honnleath scrape together supplies to flee, Bannon goes to see about activating this golem with the new magic words.

* * *

**The Golem**

===#===

"You're not seriously still thinking of attempting to activate this thing?" Morrigan asked, pursuing Bannon outside.

"Why not?" He winced as he got into the sun, and touched the bandage over his eye.

"Because it's dangerous."

"You're dangerous. I let you come along, didn't I?" He ignored her annoyed huff. No one was in the square; they must have gone inside to pack supplies. He headed for where he'd dropped the control rod.

"Bannon." Leliana caught up to him as he picked it up and brushed it off. "You lied to that poor man."

He turned a bit so he could see her with his good eye. A righteous line descended between her brows. "Yes I did," he said.

"He deserves the truth."

"And what would that have accomplished?" He would have hated the Grey Wardens, been angry at Bannon. He wouldn't have helped them.

"You could have apologized," the Chantry Sister asserted. "You could have expressed your regrets. A child is dead, certainly you have regrets." She shot a glare at Morrigan. "Or are you turning into her?"

Morrigan was the one who had killed the girl, why was Bannon getting the nun's tongue-lashing. Oh, right. Because he'd praised Morrigan's actions. "Of course I regret it," he said. "Do you think I wanted to go in there and kill a little girl? You don't think I wanted to be the hero who brought her back alive?"

She looked aside, still frowning. She wasn't ready to concede to him yet.

"He expected to hear that the demons got her. The truth wouldn't have done anything but make him feel worse."

Leliana huffed and moved off, having nothing more to say on the subject. She avoided looking at Morrigan, who managed to look both uninterestedly neutral and insufferably smug at the same time. That's all Bannon needed, two catty women competing for his attention. He rolled his good eye at Zevran, who smiled in bemusement. "I have to agree with our fearless leader on this one," the Antivan said.

"That's always your opinion," Morrigan griped.

Bannon moved away from them a bit, towards the golem. He gripped the rod and said, "_Turoth Stane._"

He wasn't really expecting anything to happen, so he nearly jumped out of his boots when the stone statue threw its arms further out with the sound of two boulders grinding together. Its mouth and eyes glowed blue-white as it shook a stone fist at the heavens. "Curse you, winged scourge!" it roared in its unnaturally resonant voice.

Banbon backpedaled towards his companions. Then the golem bent to peer at him. He froze with a strangled gasp.

"Well, it has the control rod," the golem said loudly. "I suppose it thinks it is my new master."

Bannon gulped, suddenly remembering old Wilhelm and the tale of his messy demise.

The golem loomed over him, fixing him with those steadily glowing eyes. Its rocky brow quirked. "It is not a mage." Its head tipped. "It is the one who chased off the feathered fiends."

Bannon found his voice. "Oh, you mean me."

"It's rather slow, isn't it?"

"Why did you kill your former master?" he asked it, changing the subject. It had to answer, didn't it? He had the control rod.

The stony countenance shifted in thought. "Did I? I don't seem to recall."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Standing here in the square, watching the weaklings go to and fro endlessly, and of course those flying vermin." Its eyes narrowed and it straightened up to look around, ostensibly for birds. Bannon noticed a white spot on the expanse of stone pectoral, and made an effort to refrain from trying to wipe it off.

He said, "Do you remember anything before that?"

"Hmm. The Great Mage Wilhelm. Yes, I remember him. Always with the 'Golem, carry my supplies,' 'Golem, clear that fallen tree from the road,' 'Golem, fetch my cape; I grow chilly,' 'Golem, my feet are tired; carry me.'" Its brow furrowed. "Oh, yes I remember wanting to crush its squishy little body many, many times. But it held the control rod, and I had no choice but to obey." The golem frowned at the rod Bannon still clutched in his hand. "Now it has the control rod," the construct rumbled with veiled threat.

The elf cleared his throat. "I - we - are the Grey Wardens. We're trying to stop a Blight. Fighting darkspawn, that sort of thing," he added with the mention of a Blight didn't affect the stone face. "We could use all the help we can get," he ventured. "Does that sound like something you might be interested in?"

"It asks?" the golem said incredulously, its brows going up. Bannon wondered that the little chunks of stone didn't fall off.

"Well, you didn't seem too happy fetching slippers and playing piggyback with your former master."

Something in his words or tone made the golem scowl. Well, at least it was more readable than Sten. "Happy?" It's tone was accusational. "Why would it care about such a thing?"

"You did squish Wilhelm," Bannon reminded it.

"I still do not remember that part," it said forlornly.

"Look, any servant - any slave - would like to kill his master at some point. We don't like slavery here in Ferelden."

"It will give me an order."

"What?"

"It has the control rod. It will give me an order. Now."

Right, it had trouble with pronouns. Bannon looked around at his companions. "I guess now is as good a time as any to test it." He shrugged. Then he pointed the control rod at the golem and said, "Give Zevran here a hug."

"Hey," the assassin protested. "I don't like inanimate objects invading my personal space."

At almost the same moment, the golem said, "No." Its brows went up again. "I did it! I said no!"

"It will give Sten a run for his money," Morrigan griped.

"March over there," Bannon was telling it. "Put your hands in the air. Go back to being a statue."

"No. Hah!" The golem glowered at him on that last one.

"Hey, just checking!" Bannon grinned sheepishly. "So I guess the control rod... doesn't, so much." He glanced at his companions, counting on them in case this went badly. "So... about traveling with the Grey Wardens? And killing things - _darkspawn_," he clarified.

"Is that a wise idea?" Morrigan asked.

"Why start now?"

The witch shrugged with a sigh. "Well, it can't be worse than the assassin."

"What is so bad about-" Zevran started.

"Don't ask," Bannon interrupted.

The golem said, "It wants me to go with it? And why would I want to?"

Bannon needed to figure out what this thing wanted. 'Freedom' seemed a good bet, but he couldn't just set it loose. There had to be something the Grey Wardens could offer that would entice it to work for them. "You don't _have to_ of course," he said. "What were you planning to do, once you were, um, reactivated?"

"I entertained many fantasies of squishing every living being in this forsaken town. Though it was nearly as amusing to watch those monsters kill them."

Leliana hissed in Bannon's ear, "Really bad idea."

Out of the corner of his mouth he shot back, "We can't leave it here." At least this got the nun and the witch agreeing on something, so it wasn't a total loss. To the construct, he said, "Those were darkspawn, and those are the things we will be fighting. They don't 'squish' too easily, I'll warn you right now. But there are a lot of them. You think you can handle that?"

"Hmm..." It mulled on its thoughts for a few moments. "I don't believe I have ever had to make an actual decision on anything. What an odd sensation."

"You don't have to decide now. You could go with us, and if you figure out something else you would rather do, then you can."

"That sounds sensible."

"All right then," Bannon said cheerfully. "Let's go." He started towards the road leading out of town.

"Yes, let's," Leliana added quietly, "before any townsfolk are ready to begin their journey..."

===_X_===

* * *

_End Notes:_

_Outtake:_

Bannon: March over there. Wave you hands in the air... like you don't care. Glide by the people as they start to stop and stare...  
Shale: ::waves arms, moonwalks past everybody::  
Bannon: What are you doing? I thought the control rod wasn't supposed to work?  
Shale: I'm just doing this because it sounded like fun!

.

(oops, and I almost posted this with Bannon saying "IFORGOTTHEMAGICWORDS" :X )


	7. Return to Lothering

**Return to Lothering**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure  
Language: some  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: contemplated  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

And world's longest running joke comes to an end. Or gets to the punch line? I can say no more without spoilers! :X

* * *

**Return to Lothering **

===#===

The golem stomped along behind them. Its heavy stone footfalls went _Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!_ on the cobbled street. It was getting on Bannon's nerves. And he'd thought Alistair's jingling armor was loud.

"Our company has grown significantly less stealthy," Zevran said from his blind side.

"Y'think?"

"Perhaps you and I will be going on a lot of scouting missions, just the two of us."

Bannon didn't need to see the assassin's leer; he was all too familiar with it by now. He didn't answer, but deep inside, he had to admit the idea had appeal. After that bit of fighting today, his muscles longed for the soothing touch of those strong hands. Then his mind wandered to the contours of the other elf's body, how his sleek skin would glide against Bannon's own, how those wiry arms would encircle him, hold him tight. His loins tingled with imagining of Zevran's hot, wet mouth...

Suddenly, Zevran lurched against him, and for a moment, Bannon thought the elf was going to start groping him right there. In the next moment, he shoved the assassin off. "What are you doing? Get off me!"

"Me? _You_ ran into _me_!"

"I did not!"

"Clearly, you need someone to guide your steps."

"No, I need you to stop sneaking up on m-"

The squabbling elves were interrupted by an accelerated _Thoom!Thoom!Thoom!_, and they turned in alarm at the prospect of being trampled.

But the golem wasn't heading towards them. It veered off to corner a hapless chicken that had somehow survived the darkspawn invasion. All four of the companions winced at the resultant explosion of blood and feathers and stared at the triumphant golem.

"Right," Bannon muttered to them. "No mentioning of ravens or Crows around this thing."

"Agreed," Morrigan said hurriedly.

===#===

Morrigan was 'The Feathered One,' which, all told, wasn't the worst aspect of her costume the golem could have focused on. Bannon himself was 'The Avian Bane,' which had a rather nice ring to it.

'The Painted Elf' started to complain vociferously about being an elite assassin in the - until Bannon punched him in the arm to remind him not to use that word.

The Feathered One and The Creature got into it about why the Feathered One had feathers at all. Morrigan managed to convince it that they were from birds she had slain. "And must you always refer to me like that? My name is Morrigan."

"Does it not refer to me as 'The Creature'?"

Bannon turned around to face them. "Do you have a name?"

They all stopped in curiosity as the golem gave it some thought. "I... used to have a name." Its mouth turned down. "It was so long ago..."

"It will come to you," Leliana encouraged it.

"Yes. It... is... Shale?" Its tone brightened. "Yes, I am Shale."

"Well that clears that up," Zevran muttered.

===#===

And so, when they found Alistair and the others in that clearing off the Imperial Highway, Bannon introduced the latest addition to the party along with the ground rules. "This is Shale. Shale isn't anybody's servant or slave, and the control rod doesn't work on it. Shale has a thing with birds, so important new rule: no mentioning of Crows or ravens and suchlike." He started introducing everyone to the golem.

Alistair just gaped, his eyes bugging out. Sten pursed his lips in what might actually be interest. The golem was nearly the same height as the towering qunari.

Wynne looked concerned, and that may have been justified, as Shale frowned down at her. "It is a mage," the golem said with distaste. "Does it think it can repair the control rod?" Then that glowing glower turned on Bannon. Shit, the golem had his strategy figured out. "Why did it not throw that away?"

"Because, it _did_ activate you. If something happens and you end up playing statue again, we're going to need it."

"Hrm..." Shale's eyes narrowed. "Very well then. The Bane of Avians may keep it. But no mages are to touch it!"

"I understand."

"And what happened to you?" Alistair tore his eyes away from the walking, talking stone figure to peer at the bandage on Bannon's face.

"Yeah, I... got in a fight with a demon. Wynne, can you fix me up?"

He held still while she lifted the corner of the wrapping. She gasped. "Dear Maker!"

"Do you require assistance?" Morrigan asked.

Bannon wasn't sure, but he thought Wynne shot her some kind of look. "Actually, yes. Have Bodahn pull out a cot and set it up. On the far side of the wagon, where we can have some quiet and privacy."

Morrigan didn't reply, but went off to do as she was told. Oh, Maker, it _had_ to be bad!

Zevran came up. "Will he be all right? If you need my help, I am at your service."

"That remains to be seen," Wynne answered. "And if you want to help, then organize some lunch with Alistair, and keep everyone out of my hair while I concentrate on healing him."

"As you wish!"

Then Wynne was leading Bannon like an old blind man around the dwarves' wagon, and urging him to lie down and stay still. She deftly finished removing the bandage from his head, and her face took on an look of even greater concern.

"You can do something, can't you?" he asked. "Wi-Will I be able to see?"

"You need to remain calm and just relax."

"That sounds _really_ bad." And did nothing to make him do either. "Do you need a circle of mages?" When he'd been blasted by Uldred, there had been a full compliment of seven mages to heal him. All they had now was Wynne, and Morrigan who didn't know any healing magic except how to make potions!

Wynne put one hand firmly on his shoulder, the other gently across his eyes. "Lie still," she commanded. _Hold still, or your face will come out crooked._

Bannon tried to quell his trepidation and close his eyes. Well, his one eye. He honestly couldn't tell if the other one even could close. It started hurting again, like a flame inside his eye socket.

He heard Wynne mumble something to Morrigan, and then he felt the witch's hands on his arm. A strange lethargy came over him; he couldn't tell if he was asleep or awake. He couldn't see, but there was a light, an infusion of cold white light. He recognized it from before, but wasn't sure where. A loud silence filled his head, like a deafening note from a giant pipe organ.

And then he must have passed out or fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up. His head felt stuffed with cotton batting, but otherwise... He sat up, blinking at the two mages.

"How do you feel?" Wynne asked.

"Hungry."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "The Gravy Wardens strike again."

Bannon was tentatively touching his face. He could see normally again. Nothing hurt. "Is there a scar?"

"If that's all you're worried about, I'd say the healing was a rousing success." Wynne sat back on her heels, her face drawn in weariness.

"Sorry. Yes, I feel... good. I can see. Thank you." He got off the cot, then offered Wynne a hand when she didn't get up right away. Morrigan was standing about, looking secretive. Bannon frowned. "Are you all right?" he asked the old mage.

"Yes." She took his hand and stood with a groan. "I'm fine. I just need some food as well."

He didn't really buy that, so he hovered by her arm as they joined the others for lunch. Shale frowned at them. "Is the Old Grey Mage tired? Does it want to be carried?"

"No," Bannon insisted quickly. "_She_ doesn't."

"A pity. I would have taken great pleasure in telling it no."

Wynne asked, "Why do you always refer to people as 'it'?"

"Does it not refer to _me_ as 'it'?"

"I see; you feel as if people treat you like an inanimate object, a tool, when you clearly have thoughts and feelings. Like everyone else."

Shale said nothing, but sulked. Bannon could have figured out it's - his? - angle, but he was busy making a sandwich that Alistair was complaining was too tall to actually fit into his mouth.

Wynne said, "We're not like the people you used to know."

"Perhaps it can prove so in time," the golem replied.

"Very well."

Zevran took a good long appraising look at Bannon's face. "Hmm," he said, his lips pursed, "I am only disappointed you do not have a rakish scar, _amico_."

"Yeah, well, you'll just have to deal with me being the most handsome elf in our company."

"And when will this occur?"

Alistair and Leliana laughed, which led to another heated elf argument. Until Shale complained in its - his - rock-grinding voice, "I thought there was to be smashing. So far all I find is idle chatter. I could have stayed a statue in that boring little town if I wanted to witness that."

"Not after all the people left," Bannon reminded it. "Anything has got to be more fun than standing still all those years."

"Marginally," the golem hedged. "Is there to be a lot of this idleness and frivolity?"

"Yes," Sten said. Alistair nearly fell over in shock. "A great deal of time is spent thus, rather than confronting our enemies and fighting the Archdemon."

"Preparation, Sten, preparation," Bannon reminded him. "Even you need to eat and sleep." He jacked his jaw wide and bit into his sandwich.

The qunari grumbled what might have been assent.

"Well, I do not," the golem complained.

Bannon groaned inwardly. Well, maybe Sten could teach it to walk the perimeter. A distant perimeter; they didn't need it stomping around camp all night.

After they got done with lunch, Bannon was feeling better, and Wynne was looking less strained. The group cleaned up and got ready to move out. Bannon addressed them. "All right, we're going to head up to the way station. You can see if the army left behind anything useful while Zevran and I scout ahead to Lothering."

Alistair said, "Wait, that army encampment?" He looked a little grim, no doubt remembering what had been going on there when the Wardens has first come through.

"Stick to the south side of the highway," Bannon told him. "Where the tents were."

"Why?" asked Leliana.

Alistair said, "The north side was an internment camp. For those who were Tainted."

The bard's eyes darkened.

"Come on," Bannon told the assassin, setting out ahead of the troupe.

"At last, some quality time together," Zevran lilted. He left the others with a cheeky wave and a parting leer, while the other elf just rolled his eyes in long suffering.

===#===

Zevran was glad Bannon had accepted the offer to bed him. Maker, it had been ages! And it had been very pleasurable. To be sure, Bannon could use more experience, learn some tricks of the trade, but Zevran was willing to work with him on that. For as long as it would take. His eyes lingered on the lithe form of his _patrone_ as he stalked the bridge to Lothering like a sleek hunting cat.

Yet Bannon had been quite cold towards him all day. He seemed disinterested in another liaison. Zevran understood his desire to avoid entanglements - he shared those himself. But they didn't have to stop. He knew Bannon had enjoyed it immensely; he had been _very_ responsive. So what was the problem? A little teasing? Pah. Those Fereldan boys blushed so easily, who could blame him?

He shook his head. Well, he wasn't going to beg, certainly. Bannon knew where Zevran pitched his tent. If the Denerim elf wanted no more than a one-time fling, then so be it. Zevran might be busy with Leliana, anyway. Or - no, well, Alistair was a lost cause. Perhaps the lynx-eyed witch. Now there was a prize worth pursuing. The chilly ones were always hottest in the bedroll. He licked his lips.

"Hey," Bannon hissed, bringing Zevran back to the task at hand.

He'd fallen behind in his musings. He darted ahead and crouched next to the Denerim elf. "Do you sense something?"

Bannon shook his head. "Not... anything alive..." He started down the ramp and cursed. "Who the hell left this wagon in the way?"

Zevran chuckled. "That would be me - or, more specifically, the Black Wolf mercenaries I hired. That's the wagon we lost when we came through here." The front end was suspiciously clear of bones. "The darkspawn ate the oxen," he mused. "And two of our company."

"Can't say as I missed them."

The assassin shrugged. "You will be more charitable, I think, when I tell you they left half their gold in that wagon."

The 'carpenter' leapt into the sloped bed; it's a wonder he didn't break his fool neck.

"You know, I killed at least a dozen darkspawn as we sped away."

"Uh huh."

"No, I did. With a grenade. Back when I had my fire striker." Zevran narrowed his eyes at the thief's belt pouch, where said fire striker now resided. "Then I was robbed of it."

"That's what happens when you attack people." Bannon wrestled the money chest upright, and worked on the lock.

"I might have expected it, had we attacked bandits. Not Grey Wardens."

"Either way, you lose."

Zevran grumbled to himself. The most annoying thing was that Fereldans didn't seem to have fire strikers in their country. He might have at least acquired another one. He gazed out into the fields of the Lothering farms. The ground was partially obscured by a damp mist, which seemed out of place in the advancing afternoon. Even Zevran could feel the wrongness in the air. "Are you sure you don't sense any darkspawn?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Bannon finished with the chest, he closed and locked it back up. He left it in the wagon for now, and hopped down. He waved for Zevran to follow him down the ramp and along the roadway through the town.

"What is this?" Zevran asked, eyeing a twisted, sickly plant clawing up out of the mist.

"It's the Taint."

Zevran lifted a foot and froze. "Is it contagious?"

"No," Bannon reassured him. "No, this is the Blight. The darkspawn Taint an area, and the plants get sick. Then desperate animals eat it and they become Tainted."

"Like cows," Zevran mused. Those had not been fun. The mist didn't seem to be bothering his Antivan leather boots, so he caught up to the other elf.

Bannon nodded. "Then wolves get hungry, eat the Tainted meat... eventually, the whole area is sickened."

"Can it be cured? The land, I mean." Of course the Taint couldn't be cured once it got ahold of a living creature.

"I don't know. If the Grey Wardens knew a way... well, we don't have access to that knowledge any more. Unless some Orlesian Wardens show up to rescue us all."

"Orlais save Ferelden from the Blight? Good luck with that."

Bannon shrugged. "Alistair did say the Blight brings people together."

"In that case, bring on more Blights."

===#===

The roadway through the town was clear; there were no corpses, no skeletons. No abandoned conveyances aside from the mercenaries' wagon. No darkspawn popped up to attack. It seemed they had overrun the town, and then drawn back, like the tide. Why? He asked Bannon, but the Warden didn't know either.

They scouted the town briefly. The tavern was a burnt husk. The Chantry was worse off - the facade was blackened with blood; bone totems desecrated the windows. This must be where the bodies had ended up. The whole place had a foul smell. Zevran wondered why the creatures would be attracted to such a place, motivated to spend time to do such a thing. A personal beef with the Maker? Or perhaps the Chantry was simply the largest building in town.

"Let's go," Bannon said. "The cart can pass through to the other side of the highway without any problem. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

"You'll jinx it for sure," Zevran chided him.

The other elf rolled his eyes and gestured for him to come on.

"There is a gap in the paving a bit past here," Zevran told him from what he recalled. "That will slow us down some."

"Nah, we'll just have the qunari and golem grab one wheel each and tote the cart over the hole."

"Hah! I would like to see you convince them to do that."

"You going to lay a wager on that?" Bannon asked with a wicked grin.

"Against you, my silver-tongued friend? Not likely."

Bannon chuckled. "You know, when we came through here, there were some bandits charging a 'toll' near that gap in the road. Said they were going to repair the highway. They were highwaymen - get it?"

Zevran only groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Come on, that was funny."

"Hardly."

"Alistair didn't get it, but I thought you'd at least be smart enough to see the humor there."

"In Antiva, much as here, we would just call that 'bad.'" _Muy malo_, he thought. To change the subject slightly, he said, "When we came through, these 'highwaymen' were gone, of course."

"Of course," Bannon said. "That's because we killed them and robbed them."

Zevran laughed. "Now that's a good one!"

"No, I'm serious."

Zevran just looked at him. Yep, he was serious. Oh, why was he surprised? "I have to admit, you Wardens are not quite the wonder tale heroes."

"No?"

"Actually, when I first saw you coming down the road, I wasn't sure if you were the Grey Wardens or a traveling circus."

Bannon just smacked him on the arm, by which Zevran knew he'd scored another point.

===_X_===

* * *

_End Notes:_

_"Is there to be a lot of this idleness and frivolity?"_

_"Yes," Sten said. Alistair nearly fell over in shock. _

-hahahah! Sten said yes! :X


	8. Bannon's Decision

**Bannon's Decision**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: not yet  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Ah, I remember watching Zevran in camp afterwards. Looking at his nails. Bannon wanting to punch his face in. Good times! And oddly, most of the chapter has nothing to do with the decision. Oh well.

* * *

**Bannon's Decision**

===#===

Bannon glanced towards Zevran's tent. The assassin was lounging about, examining his nails like a self-absorbed courtesan. The sinuous curves of his spine left his hip cocked enticingly. Bannon wanted to punch his smirking face in, so at dinner, he carried two bowls over by Morrigan's lean-to between the pines. "May I join you?" he asked demurely. "Before you answer, I have to say I come bearing gifts."

She tilted her head. "If 'tis Alistair's cooking, I'm not enticed in the least."

He chuckled and bent to set the bowls down by her small campfire. "Actually, it is, but that's not what I meant." He pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle and handed it to her. He made it out of some of those 'spare rags for bandages' Flemeth had given them, so it was quite ornamental - but not paisley.

Morrigan unwrapped it without comment, then blinked in surprise.

"I hope you like it. I thought it might go well with your necklace." He'd spied it on the counter of the shop in Honnleath; it was a bracelet made of hammered silver disks and turquoise gems.

She turned the bracelet to examine it by the fire's light. The metal shimmered. "'Tis beautiful. I... I thank you, Bannon." She draped it over her wrist and fastened it with a single practiced hand. She avoided meeting his gaze, leaving her eyes cast down shyly.

"You're welcome." He handed her one of the bowls.

"May I... ask you something?"

"Sure."

She toyed with the bracelet a moment. "Do you think me beautiful? -'Tis not a pathetic plea for compliments, mind. I only ask because I have very little reference for what most people find aesthetically pleasing."

He considered this carefully. "You are a very striking woman. Beautiful and smart."

"I think you tend to flatter."

"It's not flattery if it's true. But surely you must know how beautiful you are. You seem... experienced at turning men's heads."

"Mm, yes." She started in on her dinner. "Though I find men are easily enchanted by anything with long legs they believe would open for them."

"Well, I never thought that," Bannon assured her. He poked around in his bowl of potatoes and greens, hoping to find some meat in there somewhere.

"We did not have mirrors in our home," she started, looking off into the growing shadows of the woodland. "I acquired one once - a small hand-mirror I found one time I snuck into town as a child. I had seen reflections before, of course - on the lake, in puddles after the rain - but not like this. So clear, so unwavering, so lifelike. 'Twas like looking at a sliver of another world that I could hold in my hand, that I could turn this way and that. I could point it at anything I wanted to capture. It almost seemed magic."

"Did you make faces in it?" he asked her. She flushed a moment, looking down into her bowl. "Even you has to be a cute child at some point in your life."

She cleared her throat. "Anyway, when Mother caught me with it, she became furious. She snatched it away and smashed it on the ground. 'Twas vanity she accused me of. Frittering away my attention on mere looks."

"I think she was jealous."

"Considering her ultimate plan for me, 'twas nothing short of hypocritical." She stabbed at her dinner.

"Morrigan. She doesn't run your life any more. You're free of her." Bannon leaned forward. "And I'm going to make sure you remain free, permanently." He fixed her with a meaningful gaze.

She looked at him several moments, her tongue touching her lower lip. "You said you have acquired the services of the assassin." She glanced past him, towards the main camp.

"Yes."

"And his price for this job?"

"Don't worry," he told her. "I'll take care of that."

Her golden eyes went wide, then she quickly looked away. "I... I don't know what to say. I am grateful, Bannon."

He nodded, not saying anything. He wasn't sure what she was reacting to, or why it was such a strong reaction. She resumed eating demurely. Bannon didn't bother with such finesse. He was a Grey Warden and needed a lot of food, fast. As long as he didn't spray crumbs everywhere, he figured he was fine.

"And how is that golem working out for you?" she asked him after a while. Her voice had regained it's flippant air.

"Oh, fine, fine."

"You know that without the control rod, it doesn't have to obey you."

"Eh, control rods are for amateurs." He shrugged.

"Oh?"

"Uhm... I mean, really. It's a fairly simple thing." He turned and looked over his shoulder at the golem. It was in a staring contest with Sten. _Good luck with that_, he thought. Do golems even have eyelids?

"It did kill its former master," she pointed out, after chewing and swallowing.

"Well, it's former master was annoying," he countered. "As you know, I'm the least annoying person here."

"You?" Her brows shot up.

"Mm hm."

"I would have thought I was less annoying."

"Oh? And what was that you were saying to Sten the other day?" He gave her a pointed look.

"I- well... he still thinks me a man. I was just... Nevermind."

He chuckled, shaking his head.

"Lothering seems quite different with all the people gone."

"Yes," he agreed. "Very creepy."

"The word I was thinking of was 'quiet.'"

"You prefer peace and quiet?" Bannon glanced around at her little fire, then turned to look back at the camp. Voices drifted over; Zevran and Leliana's laughter, and Wynne's scolding. They must be teasing Alistair again.

"'Tis what I am used to," Morrigan said. "Growing up in the Wilds with only Flemeth for company for months on end." She shrugged.

"Were you lonely?"

"Lonely?" She gave it some thought. "I don't believe I knew the word. If I wanted companionship, I went among the wolves, or the birds. When I spoke, 'twas to the trees."

"Did they answer back?"

Her brow creased. "What kind of foolish question is that?"

He shrugged apologetically. "It seems like a lonely life to me."

"What was your life like, while you were growing up?"

"Oh, there were always people around - elves. My cousins, my aunt and uncle, my mom and dad of course. And friends. When we were old enough to go out to the market - sneak out, really..." A smile played about his lips. "Well, you've seen Denerim."

"Noisy."

He nodded, still smiling, though he tried to tamp it down.

"Yet you like it," she said to him, her opinion clearly different.

"Like you say, I guess it's what you get used to."

===#===

They finished eating, and Bannon took Morrigan's bowl to wash up for her. By his reckoning, the witch was quite happy with him. Hopefully, it would make her easier to deal with. Leliana was still probably mad at him, but that wasn't a problem. The Maker told her to work with the Grey Wardens; she wasn't likely to give that up. He'd put Sten in charge of the golem, so that was handled. For now. All told, the group was shaping up.

Then his mind wandered inevitably back to Zevran. Specifically, the sex. And the aftermath. _I did not know you were such a sound sleeper._ He could have all that, and the resultant mortification. Or he could look forward to nightmares, and restlessness, and... Fuck that, he wanted the sex. Hey, if Zevran was willing to put out, why shouldn't Bannon take advantage of such a handsome (and eminently talented) young man? He licked his lips.

After he finished with the washing up, and everyone was getting ready to retire, he intercepted the Antivan in front of his tent. "Zevran."

The assassin turned and a slow smile spread across his lips. "_Buenos noches, mi patrone._ Have you come to a decision, then?"

"Actually, no." Bannon folded his arms with a scowl. The confident smirk fell off Zevran's face. Bannon tried to draw out his discomfiture in petty sadism.

"Well, if I could be of any service in helping you reach that decision?" He leered, but Bannon could see that hint of desperation.

"You said you knew twelve massage techniques. By my reckoning, I have yet to see eleven more."

The sly smile returned. "You are indeed very thorough in your investigations."

"I have to be. Lots of swindlers in these parts." Bannon let his scowl linger a few moments more, before it shifted into a smirk. "Come on, then," he said, beckoning to his tent.

"As you desire."

===_X_===


	9. The Second Time

**The Second Time (censored version)**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Sex Scene  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: yes (m/m)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

They have sex. Again. If you want to skip those bits, you can go on to the next chapter.

The version here on FanFiction has been edited down for ratings compliance.

* * *

**The Second Time**

===#===

Bannon couldn't decide which anticipation was worse. The first time, he didn't know what to expect and had dreaded finding out it would be entirely unpleasant. Now that he knew what was going to happen, his heart was hammering so fast he could barely keep from trembling.

Worse, just watching the bronze elf strip was making him hard. Bannon could only hope Zevran took it as a compliment and didn't notice his nervousness.

Of course Zevran noticed, but alas, he'd promised not to tease the shy Fereldan, hadn't he? Despite Bannon's assertion about trying it a dozen different ways, Zevran pretty much followed the same routine as their first time. With a bigger shot of brandy. Familiarity would help Bannon relax and enjoy it. Novelty could come later. Zevran had no doubts about convincing this bed partner to continue their liaisons.

He smiled to himself as he lowered his lips to the Denerim elf's eager cock. It would be too easy to drive him over the brink. Better to tease and draw it out.

Bannon knew he would lose control the moment the Antivan's mouth engulfed him. But the damned assassin did nothing but tease.

And Bannon wanted more, so desperately. He fisted his hands in the blankets, but he didn't beg; he'd never be that desperate, that undone. At least... he didn't think he begged. There may have been some incoherent babbling, perhaps some _demanding_, but absolutely no begging.

Then Zevran's mouth was on him, sucking hard, fast, demanding in its own right. Bannon's body arched in release.

Intense pleasure enfolded him in a haze. He knew what to do next, but he couldn't seem to coordinate his will to move. That's all right, Zevran rolled him into position. Then his fingers were rubbing him, right _there_, with the warm and slick massage oil. It made his entrance tingle, and his body started trembling in anticipation again.

He clenched his teeth as Zevran slotted up against him, determined not to make any noise this time.

"You need to relax for this part," Zevran purred in his ear, nuzzling against his neck. Bannon tried, but he couldn't seem to make any headway against his rebellious body.

"Breathe. Long... slow... breaths. Deep." The sultry rumble of the last word vibrated against Bannon's back, making him tighten up more.

But he took a breath, got ahold of himself and inhaled.

"Exhale, slowly. Yes, all the way." Bannon did so, willing himself to relax. "Again."

Just as the last of the air left his lungs, Zevran thrust into him. Fortunately, he had no breath left to cry out. Zevran leaned against his back, pushed further into him, doubling the strength of the sensations, the stretch, the filling.

Then Zevran was moving, riding him, not too hard, stroking inside him with the most perversely delicious friction Bannon had ever known. Zevran's hands roamed his torso, stroking his chest, his flanks, his biceps and shoulders. "Good, good," the assassin breathed in his ear. "So good."

Zevran rode Bannon a little harder than before, he was so tight tonight. But not too hard. Grey Warden stamina or not, he didn't want his partner to be sore tomorrow.

Zevran had been with many professionals who were trained in the art of giving pleasure to their clients. Compared to them, Bannon was a clueless amateur. Yet there was something enchanting about having a partner who was so responsive, so clearly undone by one's technique. "You feel so good..." Training could come later. Zevran was determined there would definitely be a later. Many, many laters.

Bannon clenched the sleeping mat in his fists and locked his teeth together, determined not to moan like a whore and embarrass himself again. His cock stood out ramrod straight just from the sensation of Zevran stroking him from within. It ached to be sheathed - in anything, a fist. But he wouldn't break down and touch it himself. "Do it for me," he gasped. Then again, more demanding, when the Antivan didn't oblige.

"Not just yet," Zevran purred evilly. He grunted against Bannon's neck as he just went on enjoying himself.

Damned assassin. Damned _whore!_ Wasn't he supposed to do what his patron demanded? Bannon bit down on a sob of frustration. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, determined not to give in and do it himself. He panted in time with Zevran's thrusts. "Give it to me... come on!" he growled, not begged, and certainly not desperately.

He could practically feel the smirk through every fiber of Zevran's being. But then a sword-calloused fist gripped his cock and began stroking him. He forgot he was supposed to be quiet - he forgot everything as his world dissolved in an incandescent haze of pleasure. Building faster, raging hotter.

Zevran groaned, and waves of heat flowed over Bannon. It surged within him, and he lost control of his body and mind.

===#===

Bannon drifted back to himself, lying on his side on the mat, Zevran tucked up behind him, one arm over his waist. They were still joined. Languid warmth suffused him, relaxed his limbs, settled his worries. He felt Zevran's lips on the back of his neck, the top of his spine. Softly, gently, lipping at his skin. Lyrium butterflies sparked to life inside his stomach.

His throat closed painfully.

"Stay?" He'd meant to ask 'Are you going to stay?' in a careless, nonchalant voice, but he only managed to pathetically croak the last word.

"Hmm..." Zevran's breath was warm on his neck as he gave it a thought. "All right." He returned to gathering little tastes of Bannon's skin.

Bannon swallowed through the constriction in his throat. He tried to quell those damned butterflies. He stretched out and grabbed on of the towel the Antivan had thoughtfully placed nearby. He cleaned himself off and mopped up the damp spot on his bedding.

Zevran took the cloth form him, wiped his own hands. Then he shifted, and Bannon clenched his jaw in the determination not to shiver when the assassin pulled out of him. But there was something about that slide of flesh leaving him cold and empty, and his body betrayed him with a deep shudder.

Bannon closed his eyes and lay still. He didn't dare roll over and try to face his partner.

Zevran finished mopping up and set the towel aside. He pulled the blankets up over both of them as he lay back down. He nestled comfortably against Bannon once more. Bannon felt the warmth of his companion against his back, the comfort of an arm around his waist.

He kept his eyes closed. _It doesn't mean anything._ Warmth was just body heat. Comfort was just a tangle of limbs. Love was... nothing.

Zevran's breathing slowed, deepened. Within moments he was asleep. Bannon's body was ready to follow, feeling sluggish, heavy, relaxed. Sated. His mind, however, resisted.

_You are a handsome young elf, and I took advantage of you. We both enjoyed it, so what's the harm?_ It didn't mean anything. It felt good, just enjoy it. There was damned little left in his life to enjoy.

His mind finally let it go. He drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

===_X_===


	10. Return to Ostagar

**Return to Ostagar**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Action/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: no  
Other: desecration of a corpse

_Author's Notes:_

I really didn't want to do all this little skirmishy fighting. Hah, so it's sorta glossed-over. Sorry.

_Recap:_

The Sacred Ashes have cured Arl Eamon. While he gathers his knights and allies, the Wardens head eastward towards the Brecilian Forest, hoping to find the Dalish elves. On the way, they stopped by Honnleath to pick up a bird-hating stone golem, passed through Lothering, and then went onwards to Ostagar.

While crossing the Bannorn previously, the group had encountered the occupied town of Khenter, where a man named Elric Maraigne was sentenced to die for being a traitor to the Crown and sympathizer with the Wardens. Bannon managed to talk to the man, who told of some incriminating documents against Loghain that were stored in King Cailen's strongbox at Ostagar. He also told Bannon where to find the key hidden in the ruins.

* * *

**Return to Ostagar**

===#===

_Party Banter: The Mighty Demon-Douser_

Bannon: So there I was, minding my own business. You know... doing my business. When I hear this voice behind me. ::does a creepy deep voice:: 'Who dares water Gazerath!?'

Alistair: ::laughing::

Bannon: Hey, I don't know! So I whip around and there's this shadow demon-

Alistair: Ash wraith.

Bannon: Right, well ashes don't do too well when they get wet so I - you know ::gestures:: hosed him down and that was the end of him.

Zevran: You're having me on.

Alistair: No, that story is one hundred percent entirely true. I was there.

Bannon: ::winks at Alistair::

Zevran: You were there?

Bannon: Well, he wasn't _there_ there, like watching me. He was around.

Alistair: ::winks at Bannon::

Zevran: So let me get this straight... You defeated a demon by whizzing on him!?

Bannon: ::laughs::

Alistair: Actually, that's a valid alternate tactic mentioned in the Templar Handbook, for dealing with fire demons. But of course, you know, you'd have to be able to produce enough volume to actually douse them.

Zevran: You are joking me!

Alistair: ::holds up one hand:: Templar's Honor!

Zevran: Hmmm... whizzing on demons... ::wanders off thinking about it::

Wynne: You boys are not talking about what I think you're talking about!

Leliana: Boys will be boys, Wynne.

Alistair: ::aside to Bannon:: You don't think he'd actually try it?

Bannon: I wouldn't put anything past that guy!

* * *

===#===

They took their time coming down the old Imperial Highway spur that led to Ostagar; they didn't want to come upon the battlefield too close to evening. Maker only knew what waited them there. The darkspawn horde had withdrawn from Lothering, but were they still lurking around the ancient fortress? Camping there?

Alistair led them through the back way, the steep switchbacks the supply wagons had used to come up into the elven encampment. There was very little left, a broken cartwheel choked with weeds, a bent spit fork that Bannon tripped over in the long grass. At least it looked as though Loghain had given the elves time enough to pack up and leave before the darkspawn overran the place. He probably didn't want his new castle to be without servants.

As they made their way to the gate that led into the fortress ruins, Bannon said, "Hey, Alistair." The human Warden turned. "After we find this incriminating evidence that's supposed to be here, Morrigan wants to go check on her mother."

Alistair made a face. "Flemeth, the swamp witch. That should be fun."

"It's all right; you weren't really invited."

"Oh, good."

"I'll go with her, and I'll take Sten and Shale."

"And the annoying assassin?" the Templar said hopefully.

"And the annoying assassin."

"I'm right here, you know," Zevran grumped. They ignored him.

"All right," Alistair said. "As long as we're not running for our lives from the darkspawn, you should have time for a visit."

Bannon nodded. He reminded his troops what the Tevinter statue they were looking for was supposed to look like. Inside the fortress, they broke off into smaller groups. Bannon took Zevran over to where the command tents were, so the elves could poke around in King Cailen's stuff.

Morrigan followed them. "What do you mean, I want to check in on Flemeth?" she said with a frown. "I told you, I can't go anywhere near her in case she is able to trigger the spell or ritual on me that will allow her to inhabit my body."

"I know that," Bannon said, turning to her. "Alistair doesn't. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne don't need to know. Sten and Shale probably don't care, that's why we're bringing them for backup." He turned to a locked chest while Zevran rifled through the bedding. Bannon had no idea what the Antivan thought he would find, and probably didn't want to know. To the witch, he said, "You go off with us, then turn into a fox or bird or something, and go hide. Or whatever."

"Hmm." Morrigan mulled that over with narrowed eyes, toying with her necklace. "I see. 'Tis a clever enough plan."

"What is the rest of this plan?" Zevran asked.

"I'll distract her, you sneak up behind her and bam!" Bannon frowned at the stubborn lock. This must be the strongbox the King's guard in Khenter had mentioned. And why they needed the key.

Zevran said, "You don't have any problem 'murdering' an old woman?"

"Me? I thought you would - she's not exactly a hot-looking prince."

The Antivan shrugged. "No matter."

Morrigan said, "She _is_ a powerful mage. Do not underestimate her for one moment."

"I can deal with mages, and old women." Zevran turned to Bannon. "It is you, Ser Soft-Hearted, I was concerned about."

"I am not!"

"You hesitated to kill that woman in The Grey Pearl."

"She was an elf!" Bannon snorted. "Don't worry, this woman is scary beyond all reason." He shook a finger at Zevran. "Just don't screw up, or we are seriously dead. Or even worse."

"Hmph." Zevran jutted his chin into the air. "I am the greatest Crow assassin in the world. I do not screw up."

"Right, right, you _always_ get your target." He gave the 'Great Assassin' a pointed look that completely deflated him.

Morrigan said, "You _do_ have a contingency plan, I hope?"

Bannon nodded. "I think yelling, 'Shale, help; the mage has a control rod and a flock of birds' ought to do. If not, then 'Sten, the evil sarry-bass is lose and going to destroy us all' will help."

She looked at him a long moment, her golden eyes unreadable. Then they softened, and she nodded with a slight smile. "That is actually a sound strategy. My faith in you is well-deserved."

Bannon shrugged modestly. He didn't want to count his apostates before they were burned, after all. "Well, the sooner we find the key and these papers, the sooner we can get started."

He ducked out of the tent, and met Alistair coming the other way. "I found the key," the knight said.

"Oh, good. I found the strongbox."

They began to turn back to the tent, but Wynne's shout of "Help!" had them running the other way. They ran towards the area where the mages had stayed, Zevran and Morrigan behind them. They found Wynne and Leliana casting magic and bolts at what appeared to be Fereldan soldiers. Dead ones. Sten and Shale waded into the midst of the group and started smashing with abandon. Bones and armor bits flew.

"Undead, great!" Alistair complained. He tucked the key down his breastplate and readied his sword and shield.

"I sense some darkspawn," Bannon said. "Where are they?" He unshouldered Melinda, deciding to stay back and pick off targets.

"Towards the bridge!"

This cluster of skeleton warriors was covered by the two massive warriors and two mages. Leliana retreated behind Alistair and Bannon. Zevran appeared at the latter's right side, his own bow ready to fire.

"A battle plan, _mi patrone?_"

"Just wait... here they come!"

A handful of genlocks boiled around the corner of a stone wall, mouths gaping hungrily as they spied the Wardens' group. Two went down with arrows in their skulls, moderately slowing those behind. A third staggered back, white fletching tagging its shoulder.

"You need to shoot faster than that," the Antivan goaded Bannon.

There was no time for a reply; it was time to pull blades an start hand-to-hand fighting. The skirmish was relatively short. The four of them had just about mopped up the genlocks by the time the heavy hitters joined the party. But then a taller hurlock rounded the wall. It stopped out of range and screeched alien words with a voice like fingernails on a chalkboard.

A fireball bloomed and headed towards the group. "Shit!" Bannon yelled. He didn't have time to do more than throw his arms up, as useless as that would be. He braced for fiery impact, but then the flames evaporated.

There was a moment of silence while everyone stood, stunned, unsure what had happened. Then, "Hah!" Alistair yelled. "Get him!"

Bannon and Zevran ran recklessly at the Alpha hurlock, eager to claim the kill. It gestured, chanted, and extended a hand at them. It looked confused a moment when nothing happened, then four swords slammed into it.

"Hah!" Bannon said, while simultaneously Zevran called, "Mine!" Before they could start arguing, an insane, inhuman giggling commenced. Then half a dozen undead erupted from the ground around them.

"Double shit!"

"_Brasca!_"

"That, too!"

The elves jumped back to back and took on all comers. The others ran to help. More eerie giggling rang out under the sounds of bones smashing and fighters panting for breath. Then it faded.

"What was that?" Wynne asked, peering at the elves to see how much healing they needed. They seemed fine, for now.

"The return of the giggling darkspawn?" Alistair half-answered, looking at Bannon for confirmation.

"It went that way, towards the bridge." The elf started off. "Come on, before it brings more of its friends."

They met another knot of undead coming off the bridge. They must be the soldiers, from the battle. Bannon shuddered. He hoped they didn't meet any Grey Warden corpses among them.

After a few minutes, the dead lay at rest once more, if in more scattered and broken pieces than previously. Bannon peered across the wide stone bridge. It looked clear of corpses. They headed out over the span, avoiding the gaping holes in the architecture, both old and new. On the west edge, the more intact side, stood a huge darkspawn totem, towering high over the bridge, probably visible from the ravine below. Beneath the totem was a wide circle of black smears, painted with clawed hands.

"Stop," Wynne called. "That could be a trap." She moved up between the companions and studied the markings. "It looks like a rune circle, but I don't recognize it. Morrigan, have you ever seen the like?"

The witch pursed her lips. "'Tis not swamp magic, that is certain."

While they contemplated the circle, Bannon looked up at the totem. "Oh, Maker."

The others followed his gaze. A man hung on the construction, naked. Curved spikes hooked through his body, holding him aloft. There was little blood, only reddish-brown scabrous clumps where the flesh was torn, but there was black ichor spattered over much of the legs and torso, and the ribcage was livid and misshapen.

The head lolled to one side, resting on one outstretched arm, partially veiled by a fall of matted gold hair.

"Cailen," Alistair breathed, his voice full of untold pain.

Bannon swallowed. It was the king, the man who had offered him his hand. That's all he could think about: the king of the humans treating him like a warrior, even though he'd been nothing at the time but an elven street rat, a thief, a murderer. Not even a Grey Warden yet. Bannon felt a pang of tragic loss. The lofty King of Ferelden had never before had anything to do with the people of the alienage, not until that day. This man could have changed all that, with help from an elven war hero.

Leliana shuddered. "King Cailen... what have they done?" She retreated past Morrigan and Shale and retched loudly.

Behind the Wardens, Zevran scoffed. "A rather crude job. You would think that after going through all the trouble to kill a king, they would have at least displayed his face properly."

Alistair tensed, a burning rage infusing his face. Bannon felt it, as well. He didn't want Zevran murdered on the spot, so he stepped around and grabbed the Antivan roughly by the arm. He shoved him away from the circle, to an intact section of the bridge railing. "Stay here," he snarled. "And keep your mouth shut." He turned back before the assassin could retort. Bannon didn't know what he would do; his whole body thrummed with outrage.

"We have to...," Alistair was saying, unable to take his eyes away from the grisly spectacle. "We can't leave him..."

"He's dead, Alistair," Bannon said gently.

"But he's our king! He doesn't deserve to be treated like this! No one does!"

"We don't know what kind of magic this is," Wynne said.

"'Tis most likely some type of necromancy," Morrigan offered, subdued. "To preserve..." She trailed off, but it was clear to see that the king's corpse hadn't decomposed as much as the undead warriors they had faced.

Sten moved up beside Alistair. "This is no way to treat a fallen warrior. But the area is not secure."

And Zevran's voice drifted over from his exile. "Should I be still keeping my mouth shut, or shall I mention that our demented little friend is back?"

They all turned. The giggling genlock was grinning toothily at them from the far end of the bridge. It began making arcane gestures with a bone-decorated rod. Blue lines formed in the air.

Bannon sprinted towards it, afraid of what it might animate next. "Alistair! Do the thing!"

He didn't know if the Templar had a chance to try. The genlock ran off before Bannon got to it. A pair of hurlocks stepped out, and the elf was dancing while his companions caught up with him.

The necromancer led them on a merry chase through the ruins and down into the ravine. Bannon could sense the scattered pockets of darkspawn, but then the undead soldiers would blindside him.

He ended up on the ground, a crossbow bolt in his side, as they caught up to the annoying little blighter. Wynne and Leliana stopped to tend to him.

"Ow!" he complained.

"It's not deep," Leliana reassured him.

"Just yank it out and let Wynne heal it," he grated.

"Are you su-?"

"Hurry!" This area was clear of corpses, but he could sense darkspawn gathering. In another moment, there was a roaring from the qunari, answered by darkspawn howls, and the clash of steel, stone, and flesh. It almost drowned out the pain ripping through his side.

It was only temporary. Bannon struggled to get up, but Leliana held him by the shoulders. "Rest one moment."

"Hold still," Wynne admonished.

"I can't! I have to help Alistair."

The rest of the company faced the darkspawn group. Sten and Shale hammered and pummeled with abandon. If Bannon didn't know better, he'd think they were competing for points. Alistair stood at the center, Zevran beside his shield. Morrigan stood a few paces behind them, calling down magic to strike their foes.

Beyond the skirmish, blue light flared. The genlock Alpha was up to its old tricks.

Alistair yelled, "Watch my back!" just as Bannon ran up. The Templar raised his shield and plowed through the darkspawn ranks, throwing them aside. Bannon and Zevran closed the gap behind him, swords flashing.

"Get back!" Morrigan warned, giving everyone a scant second before unleashing an explosion of ice amidst the darkspawn. A giant stone fist hammered down right afterward, pulverizing everything caught in the blast.

As the cold air and crystal powder cleared, they could see Alistair standing over the genlock, yanking his sword from its back. It wasn't getting up again.

The companions had only enough time for one breath before they heard an eerie, echoing wind. A ghostly blue glow played over the ground to a huge lump of - it was an ogre corpse, Bannon realized. A big one. The glow enveloped it, then settled into the dark skin. A low groan emanated from it.

Alistair began slowly backing away while the others remained frozen. The eye sockets of the massive skull flared with malevolent light, and the corpse began to rise. "Oh," the Templar breathed, "triple shit."

The beast heaved unsteadily to its feet, its armor hanging loose in places where chunks of flesh were missing. There was one sword stuck nearly to the hilt in its chest, and one through its neck. It didn't seem to notice. It roared a challenge, its voice rusty, but its breath a rotting stench that reached all the way to the Wardens' back ranks.

Alistair stopped backing away. "Sten, Shale, to me!" He set himself firmly before the creature, his shield up. The giant and golem flanked him, not so large any more, compared to their foe. "Watch out for when it - _charges!_"

The undead behemoth lowered its horned head and barreled towards the three. Its gait was stilted and uncoordinated. Sten, Shale, and Alistair avoided its first pass, then Shale threw himself onto the thing's neck and grabbed its horns.

The ogre bellowed and staggered about, thrashing and rearing like a wild bull.

Everyone scattered, except Shale, who hung on doggedly.

"Lure it over here," Wynne called. She began drawing a circle in the dirt with the end of her staff. "I can trap it."

That was easier said than done.

Bannon looked to the witch. "Morrigan?"

"'Twill be several minutes before I can conjure enough ice for a target that size."

The elf looked back at the fray. The ogre was slamming Shale repeatedly to the ground. The whole ravine echoed with the sound of stone impacting earth. Sten and Alistair danced around the edges of the ogre's crooked path, looking for opportunities to strike. Bannon didn't know how much good that would do - the thing was dead, so they couldn't bleed it out, and crippling it wouldn't work.

"We need to get it off its feet," Leliana said. "Do we have any rope?"

"Morrigan," Bannon said; "just a little bit of ice. Aim at its feet." Hey, it worked for Niall.

Bannon had doubts that the witch could accurately predict where the ogre's feet would land, but she skirted that problem by simply freezing the right foot itself. "Great, thanks! Wynne, how much longer?"

"Almost... it's ready!"

"All right, you two," he said to the mages, "get back."

Morrigan moved off, but Wynne said, "I have to stay and activate the runes. If I do it too soon, our friends may get trapped in it."

"Shit. All right." He moved to at least stand between her and the behemoth. Not that he would slow it down any. Leliana and Zevran spread out to flank him.

Bannon turned his attention back to the ruckus. The ice didn't slip so well against dirt, but finally the juggernaut hit a rocky patch and its foot skidded out from under it, throwing it on its ass.

It landed with a ground-shaking thud and a bellow. Shale flew off and crashed to the ground, tumbling like a dislodged boulder.

"Sten, Alistair! Lure it over here!" Bannon tried. "Zevran, you're annoying, go see if it will chase you."

"As you wish! Always appreciative of my talents," the Antivan said cheerfully.

Bannon shook his head. "And don't get behind it. They kick!"

Zevran waved in acknowledgement before trotting up to the ogre and insulting its mother. Do darkspawn even have mothers? Bannon shuddered.

The ogre's crooked gait made it hard to tell if it was going to hit the trap or veer off. Alistair and Sten helped herd it in the right direction. They raced Zevran across the rune trap and Wynne darted forward to activate it. Bannon held his heart in his mouth, hoping the ogre didn't decide to come after her.

It's malevolent eyes flared again, then the sigil's light drowned it out. The beast froze in mid-step and toppled awkwardly to one side.

Panting, everyone gathered around for the next step.

"Morrigan?" Bannon asked.

"I don't think I can ice the whole thing through. Wynne, is your stone fist ready?"

The old mage shook her head. "You need to hurry, this won't last forever."

"Well," Alistair said, "the only way to 'kill' something undead is to dismember it so it can't function, or remove its head."

Bannon eyed the tree-trunk neck. Sword stuck in it or not, that was going to be tough. "Really wish you had a big sword right now, Sten."

"My Asala is lost to me," the qunari replied cryptically.

The witch said, "Perhaps if I freeze the creature's head, Sten can smash it."

Bannon looked around. "All right, are we game for this plan?" Alistair and Zevran seemed as eager as he was to avoid meat-chopping duty. Sten agreed with some reserve - and where in the Blackened City had that golem gotten to?

They moved back, and Morrigan cast her spell. The qunari stepped in with a mighty swing and cracked off a twisted horn.

"'Twill have to be more than cosmetic damage to work," the witch goaded him.

Sten muttered something, then returned to hammering. After a few more minutes, chunks began to break off in earnest.

The body collapsed as the paralyzing sigil ran out of energy. Only a few shards of ice stuck out from the neck.

"Is it good and dead? Really dead?" Bannon asked. It seemed to be. "Anybody see where the golem went?"

Everyone looked around. "There," Leliana said. The golem lay where it had fallen. She, Bannon, and Wynne moved over to it. Maker, had it broken already?

"Shale!" It's eyes still held a glow. "Are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" the construct repeated, sounding vague and confused. "I am damaged." It - well, he - managed to sit up. One hand clutched his chest where a large crack split the stone. Slates crumbled off. "Yes! Yes, it... it hurts. I don't recall ever feeling such a sensation, but it seems familiar somehow." Shale's stony face crumpled in misery. "I do not like it."

"Wynne, can you heal him?"

"I can certainly try." She crouched at the golem's side. "Shale, will you allow me to cast healing magic on you?"

"It wants to cast magic on me?" he growled in distaste. It was a good thing Wynne asked. Who knew how he might react to that. Violently, probably.

Leliana put a small hand on the rough stone arm. "It is healing magic, Shale. The worst that could happen is it won't work, and you'll be none the worse off than you are now."

Shale looked at Bannon. He nodded. "That's true. I won't let her do anything bad to you."

Wynne snorted. "As if I would."

"Well, no, she wouldn't." Bannon gave Shale his charming smile.

"Very well. You may... heal me."

Wynne nodded. "Hold still. This will take but a moment. It may feel strange at first." She spread her hands over the crack. Her eyes half closed as a cool healing light flowed from her fingers.

Bannon watched the golem closely for any indication it was about to attack. Its face went lax, its expression blank. The elf hoped that was a good sign.

After a few minutes, Wynne sat back on her heels with a tired sigh. The crack in the stone skin was gone. The golem looked down, frowned, and poked the area with one finger. Bannon winced, but the stone knocking against stone didn't cause it to flake or crumble.

"I am... healed." Shale looked over at Wynne. "I am... grateful to the old mage."

"You're welcome." She retrieved her staff and used it to climb to her feet. Bannon jumped up to help her. "Who else needs healing?" She turned to where the others were standing in a knot, and headed over to see about Sten. Bannon followed, trying not to be too solicitous.

Alistair had pulled the swords out of the ogre. The blood had desiccated within the corpse, so they had come out clean. He was staring down at them, face drawn, unaware of what was going on around him.

Zevran was at his side, casting an appreciative glance at the blades. "Fine Rivani red steel," he commented.

"These were Duncan's," Alistair said to no one in particular.

"Who is Duncan?"

The Templar, remembering his earlier anger, shot the assassin a venomous glare.

"Zev," Bannon interrupted, "go check the perimeter. Take Leliana with you," he added as the assassin seemed about to argue.

Bannon stepped closer to Alistair. He did recognize the swords. A wave of melancholy washed over him, but it wasn't that he'd liked the shem or anything. Look at the mess he'd landed Bannon in. Fighting the Blight was harder than escaping from prison.

"Duncan...," Alistair said. "Duncan killed this ogre. The first time."

Bannon nodded. He itched to take the swords, to try their balance. But he refrained. Alistair had been friends with Duncan. He'd probably want to keep all that was left of him.

Alistair lowered the blades to his sides and turned. "Then this is where... he died." He swallowed. "Where the Grey Wardens..."

Where the Grey Wardens fell. Alistair couldn't say it. His face creased in a frown. "But there's no sign of them. No armor, no... bodies." The rest of the battlefield was littered with bones and metal, fuel for the necromancer. Bannon recalled what Morrigan had told him, about the darkspawn picking through corpses. _Feeding, I think._ He shuddered and decided not to tell Alistair about that.

Unfortunately, the witch was nearby, and she didn't mind sharing her morbid knowledge. "The darkspawn must have dragged them off after the battle."

Alistair scowled. "The darkspawn took them? But why? Where?"

Bannon shot her a warning glare, which she ignored, or didn't notice. "I know not."

"It doesn't matter now," the elf said, before she could speculate. "Morrigan, we should start heading out towards Flemeth's... home." He'd almost called it a 'hut,' but didn't think either witch would appreciate him insulting their domicile.

"You're leaving now?" Alistair asked.

"It seems safe enough, with that creepy genlock dead. Besides, if we want to get back before nightfall..." He squinted at the sky. It was nearing noon. He didn't expect the assassination to take all that long - if they didn't hit Flemeth fast and hard, they were going to be seriously screwed. But if they met pockets of darkspawn on the way, that would cause delays. He did _not_ want to end up camping in the Wilds with Morrigan as their only guide again.

"You'd better get going, then," Alistair finished his thought. "We'll... take care of things here. Meet us up top, in the ruins. You know that grand hall?"

Bannon nodded, although the only thing left of the 'hall' was a floor and some broken pillars. It was where he'd been a part of the King's war council, a wide-eyed elf fresh out of his home city.

"The stone won't absorb the Taint like the ground. It should be safe there, for the night."

"All right. Hopefully, we'll be back in time to leave before dark." He turned to go.

"Wait."

Bannon turned back. Alistair seemed to realize he was still holding the swords. He lifted them. "You should have these."

"Me?"

"Well, you're the two-sword kind of Warden. Like... like Duncan was." Alistair's face began to crumple, but he controlled it.

"I thought you'd want to keep them."

"That would be... well, kind of selfish. And impractical. And... well... you... It would honor him better, I think, for a Grey Warden to wield them."

Bannon took the swords. "I... don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Or, you know... just say, 'Yes, I will kick darkspawn arse with these.'"

Bannon grinned. "You know I will."

===_X_===


	11. An Assassination and a Funeral

**An Assassination and a Funeral**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Action/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: yes  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

There's plans, and then there's contingencies. For those keeping score, the assassination segments of this chapter were written... years ago. The funeral bits just today.

_Recap:_

Bannon, Morrigan, Zevran, Sten, and Shale are going to 'visit' Flemeth, with the aim of killing the old witch and recovering her grimoire. Alistair, Leliana, and Wynne stayed at the Ostagar ruins to retrieve King Cailen's corpse.

* * *

**An Assassination and a Funeral**

===#===

Zevran slipped around the back of the hovel, avoiding patches of bracken. He didn't catch any glimpses of movement through the small windows. The entire place had a deserted air, but he didn't let down his guard. He made it to the bedroom window. He pressed his back against the wall and looked over his shoulder through the dirty glass. Still no sign of inhabitants. He turned to start prying the casement open, when the sky suddenly went dim.

The assassin looked up and nearly choked as his heart leapt into his throat. A dragon was blotting out the sun, casting the hut into shadow. The wind of its wings whipped small twigs and leaves at his face as he squinted up at it. His right hand went reflexively to his sword, though he had no idea what good it would do. Perhaps he could cut the dragon's mouth from the inside, on his way down its throat.

The blown leaves and debris hissed and curled into a whirlwind. The dragon alighted, seemingly weightless. A golden glow wreathed the huge creature, then shrank down... down into the form of a woman. The bright light winked out and Zevran stood blinking at an old hag. She walked towards him, and he remained frozen in shock. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he startled to see Bannon there. The other elf must have seen the dragon and ran back here, his swords out, ready to save Zevran. Or, more likely, die trying. It was a stupid thing to do, though Zevran had to appreciate the sentiment.

The grey-haired witch turned her wolfen eyes to Bannon. "I do hope those won't be necessary," she said in a low, threatening tone. The Denerim elf quickly sheathed his weapons. Zevran took his hand slowly off his own sword.

"Uhm, Flemeth," Bannon said, working his tongue loose. Of course, this would be their target. Perfect. Just perfect. Zevran suppressed a groan. "We're glad to see you alive and well," the thief continued, recovering quickly, like a cat falling off a fence - all scrambling for footing one moment, the next, nonchalantly licking a single hair that was out of place.

"And why, pray tell, are you here?" Flemeth lifted her right hand and turned it palm up. A violet flame whooshed into existence above it. "No lies, now, Silver-Tongue."

"Ahhh..." Bannon licked his lips. "Morrigan got ahold of a book. She thought it was your grimoire, but thinks it could be a fake. She... wanted us to see if yours - your real one - was still here. To check."

Flemeth looked to the flame in her hand, as if contemplating using it on the elves. The dancing flame faded to blue, then back to violet. She pursed her lips a moment. Then she looked back at Bannon. "Nothing more?" The elf shook his head. "Aloud, boy," the witch demanded. "Say it."

"Uh, well... Morrigan is concerned..." Bannon placed his words carefully, as if treading through a lane filled with traps. "The grimoire she has - the fake one - seems to indicate... um, that your long life can be ascribed to you taking over your daughters' bodies. When you, ah, get too old."

Flemeth narrowed her eyes. "So she sent you to kill me, to prevent that from happening to her."

Zevran swallowed and flicked his eyes from the witch back to Bannon. The Denerim elf was a master of lies and manipulation of people. The assassin waited to see how he would get them out of this fix. He almost passed out when Bannon simply told the truth.

"Yes."

Not good! This is _not_ good! The witch was going to roast them, then turn back into a dragon and eat them! Still, something held Zevran back from attacking her. Some primal instinct for survival, perhaps. Somehow he knew he wouldn't get his blades clear of their sheaths before perishing. It was up to Bannon to get them out of this.

The thief spread his hands before the witch. "But," he said, "I don't think that's necessary."

The violet flame burned blue once more. Flemeth chuckled and lowered her hand. "I always knew you were the smart one. Well, Morrigan desires my grimoire?" When Bannon nodded, she said, "Go and fetch it then. It's inside, on the mantel."

Bannon glanced at Zevran, then back at the witch. "Just... take it?"

"I told you to, didn't I? Don't worry, there aren't any deadly spells or traps on it. I'm getting senile, you know. Wouldn't do for me to forget to dispel them and then blow myself up trying to read my own damned book." The two elves shot each other another glance. "Go and fetch it, boy, while I have a little chat with your friend, here."

With one more cautioning look, Bannon turned and went around to the front door. Zevran hadn't needed that look. The fine hairs on his arms were prickling and standing on end, and his scrotum shriveled as the witch moved closer to him, her eerie eyes unblinking. She raised her hand between them, the violet flame writhing upon it. "What's your name, boy?"

"Z-Zevran." The assassin licked his lips. "Ma'am."

The flames turned to silver and Flemeth stared into them. She stared deep, her eyes unfocussed. After a moment, she said softly, "Zevran Arainai, of the Antivan Crows." He gulped as her grey-gold eyes fixed upon him again. "Tell me something, elf. What is more important: Life or Love?"

"Life." What was this, a trick question?

"And what of Loyalty?"

"What of it?" Zevran frowned. "One can have life without love, and without loyalty. One cannot have these other things without life. Therefore, life is clearly of greater importance."

Flemeth snapped her hand closed, extinguishing the silver flame. She raised her forefinger, the nail thick and hard, pointed like a talon. She held it inches from his face and said in a low, dangerous voice, "Be sure you remember that, boy."

Zevran just gaped. How dare this old woman threaten him? A witch, yes yes, to be certain; but he killed mages all the time! He should not be afraid of her! Yet... he could distinctly imagine that one claw ripping through his guts, slicing him open like a fish. The only sound he made was a tiny click as he tried to swallow with a throat gone dry.

In a blink, the old witch was out of his face, standing around looking... quite ordinary. Zevran turned his head; Bannon had reappeared. The black leather-bound book was in his hand. "Is... everything all right?" the Denerim elf asked hesitantly.

"Yes, yes," Flemeth said. Waving her hands around like a pair of trapped birds, she shooed them off. "Don't you have an archdemon to slay or something? You don't have time to be bothering batty old ladies! You want this Blight to last a hundred years? Get a move on!"

The two elves fled her presence with less than their usual swagger and decorum.

===#===

Sten glared at the space between the trees where the elves had disappeared. Arms crossed, he seemed to take exception to the space remaining empty, to all the trees and hanging vines around them. Glaring didn't make them go away, however. Worse, it did nothing to intimidate the insidious little creatures that hovered around his head. One suicidally flew into his eye. "Vasha-dan!" His eye watered and he blinked, lowering his head to try to get the idiotic thing out. He waved his hand through the cloud around his head, but that did nothing to dissuade them from hovering. Why didn't they just land, feed on his blood, and then leave? Why this pointless flying around in tiny circles? This useless smacking into his eyeballs to drown?

Shale stood resolutely next to him. "This waiting is interminable," the stone golem growled. No bugs flew to it, for which Sten felt and un-Qun-like pang of jealousy. "This is more boring than standing around all night, watching the squishy ones as they waste their time lying about with their eyes closed. And have you grown an inch in the past half hour?"

"Of course not." Sten slapped a hand to the side of his face. He managed to sting his cheek, but there was no evidence he'd hit any of the annoying insects.

"Then I'm sinking in this infernal muck," Shale growled. Yes, the mud around the golem's feet seemed wetter than the nearby ground. "How much longer do we have to stand here?"

"Not long," Sten avowed. This mission was pointless. He planned to move ahead and attack whatever the target was, or just leave the elves and return to camp. The sooner they got out of this swamp, the better.

A few minutes later, the elves reappeared. "Where were you?" the Warden griped at the two giants.

"Here," Shale answered, "waiting for your blasted signal."

"Signal?" The elf looked up at them incredulously. "Didn't you see the huge dragon swooping down?"

Sten looked to the golem, who only shrugged back at him. "There was n-" The qunari had to pause to spit out more suicidal insects that had flown into his mouth. "There was no dragon."

The two elves shared a look. "Right," said the Grey Warden. "We got what we came here for; let's go."

===#===

Alistair stood by the king's bier, head low, a torch in his hand. His arms were so tired. The fighting didn't bother him; he was used to sword and shield, raising them time and time again. This was a different weariness, from carrying branches and scrap wood, from bearing the king's body to the pyre.

Wynne had untangled and erased the darkspawn runes. Leliana had found sheets for the winding cloth. It had fallen to Alistair to get Cailen down from the giant totem. It was difficult. For all that the man was a stranger to him, Alistair couldn't help but think about the blood they shared.

_This man is my brother._

Estranged from him, like so many of his relatives. His father, his brother, his sister. Strangers, all. Alistair swallowed past the lump in his throat. _Dunce,_ he bitterly chided himself. _A man is dead - the King of Ferelden - and all you can do is cry about being lonely._

He was supposed to say a few words. A king's eulogy. But what could he say? The Wardens had all thought Cailen a buffoon. A starry-eyed kid who played at war and talked of glorious battles.

Behind him, Leliana asked Wynne, "Did you know him?"

"I saw him walking through camp, once. So brave and noble," said the older woman. "When he came to greet the mages, more than one young girl's mind wandered from his words."

"Perhaps more than just the young ones," Leliana suggested.

Wynne's cheeks coloured. She struggled a moment with her expression, between fond memories of a handsome king and the horror of seeing what had become of him. Her eyes misted over, but she found her voice. "He thanked us for lending our aid, even though the Circle's obedience was his to command. He made us feel like heroes, strong enough to take on the horde, just like in the wondertales." She sighed fondly, sadly.

"I wish I could have met him," the bard said.

Alistair stepped forward and thrust the torch into the pyre. "King Cailen Theirin," he intoned. "A man who dreamed too grandly and died too young." He moved back beside his companions.

The fire burned quickly, aided by magical runes Wynne had provided. All the better to carry Cailen's spirit across the Veil at last, so he could have peace. Leliana raised her voice in the Lay of Calenhad, the national anthem of Ferelden. Alistair placed a hand over his heart, surprised to feel it hurting. Yet, it seemed so right.

Heat prickled at the eyes of those who bore witness to the last journey of the King of Ferelden.

===#===

"Were you and your brother close?" Wynne asked him later, as they sat resting on an old stone wall. Bodahn had caught up with them, and with reassurances that the area was clear of darkspawn and free of the Taint, he had helped them set up camp. They had a bit of time to rest before dinner, and to wait for Bannon and the others to return.

Leliana joined them, a curious tilt to her head when she heard the mage's question.

Alistair said, "You mean, did the king even know he had an illegitimate brother?" He shrugged. "We met once, at Redcliffe, when we were boys. Arl Eamon presented me to Cailen. I bowed and said, 'Welcome to Redcliffe, your majesty.' He said...," here, Alistair took a moment to lighten his voice, give it the energy of a child, "'You have swords!' and then he ran off to play in the armory all day."

Leliana chuckled, though Wynne gave him one of her looks. The kind that made him feel as if he'd been caught with pie filling staining his mouth. "Alistair, is that true?"

"True? Of course it's true. That's exactly what happened."

"Only you tend to deflect unpleasant truths with humor." Wynne's eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"Or, I like to tell amusing stories about things that have happened to me." Subconsciously, he rubbed his mouth. "Really, Wynne. We weren't close. That was the only time we'd ever met. As for whether he knew the sordid truth of my existence..." He shrugged. "I can only assume he was told when he was old enough to understand all the ramifications." Alistair's mind wandered to what that might have been like. Had they expected Cailen to order him to be executed, removed as a threat to his rule? He shuddered. That seemed so unlike Cailen. Too cold and cruel for the cheerful golden boy. Then again, he hadn't suspected Cailen capable of the political machinations they had discovered in the king's strongbox. Those letters had gone into the satchel with the Grey Warden treaties.

Leliana gave him a canny look. "So what is the truth behind that story about the ash wraith?"

"You mean Bannon versus Gazerath?" He chuckled. "Well, what really happened was - Bannon!"

There could be no mistaking the _thoom! thoom! thoom!_ of the golem's footsteps that approached the camp, and the feeling of well-being that his fellow Warden always brought when he was close to Alistair. The feeling of not being alone. The others had indeed returned (including Morrigan and the annoying assassin, alas), safe and sound.

"So what happened?" Alistair asked, when they got to the camp and settled in. "Any trouble?"

"Nah," the elf replied with a wave of his hand.

"How was Flemeth?"

"Oh, the same as always." Bannon glanced around to make sure Morrigan had scuttled off to wherever she scuttled off to before rolling his eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you're back."

"Any trouble here?"

Alistair shook his head. "No. We... well, it wasn't a royal funeral, but we sent him on his way. Maker watch over him."

"That's good."

"Should be a quiet night," Alistair remarked. He frowned slightly when Bannon's eyes turn aside, his mind going elsewhere. Alistair didn't want to know where. Briefly, he wondered if the other Warden had noticed the elves' tents were pitched a bit further away from the others.

Bannon shook himself and seemed to return to normal. "Yeah, it seems except for the little welcoming committee here, all the darkspawn have left this area."

"Does that worry you as much as it worries me?"

"Yeah," the elf said darkly. "Makes you wonder where they're headed."

===_X_===


	12. An Apt Pupil

**An Apt Pupil**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Sex Scene  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: yes (m/m)  
Other: none

Author's Notes:

Yes, they're at it again. Don't worry, this is the last time. Er, not the last _time_, but the last chapter focused on the sex. From here on out, their routine is pretty, uh, routine.

Title is from a Stephen King story. Well, the phrase fits.

* * *

**An Apt Pupil**

===#===

Bannon was aggressive tonight, Zevran noticed with a little thrill. The elves knelt face to face, thighs interleaved so they could press chest to chest, each with his arms around the other, hands pressing, fingers kneading, exploring and stroking in mutual pleasure.

Zevran thrust his tongue between Bannon's lips. The shy Fereldan boy opened his mouth to take it. Mmm, shy no more. Zevran purred in approval. They kissed, they licked, sensations soft and wet and warm.

They shifted, pressing closer, now belly to belly, their cocks touching, rubbing, stirring with awakened desire. Bannon tilted his head to kiss Zevran's neck. The Antivan moved his hands to Bannon's chest, toying with his nipples.

Then Bannon gripped his upper ams and pushed him back, down. Firmly, but not forcefully. Zevran had seen the Warden's strength, though somehow Bannon seemed blind to it. But he did not resist. He lay back on the mat and relaxed.

"I've been studying your technique," Bannon said as he nudged the assassin's legs wider and shifted to kneel between his knees.

"Oh?" Zevran quirked a brow, a smile creeping to his lips. This ought to be interesting. He cocked his left arm behind his head so he could watch the Denerim elf at work. His right hand settled lightly on his stomach, and he opened his legs to give the elf full access to anything he wanted.

Bannon licked his lips, his eyes fixed on Zevran's semi-flaccid cock. "If you're anything like me," he mused, running his knuckles along the underside of the shaft to get it to lay up on Zevran's belly, "then this... ought to drive you wild." He bent, and with two fingers still holding the shaft gently pinned out of the way, he put the tip of his tongue on the small neck of skin running down to the scrotum. Zevran did not try to suppress his little gasp of pleasure.

The Denerim elf ran his tongue slowly up and down. Rather experimentally. Zevran's fingers flexed and spread, rubbing across his stomach. The thing about novitiates was they really needed to take their time learning these things. Eventually, Bannon's lips joined his tongue, now alternating between sucking and licking. Another sound escaped Zevran's throat, a moan with a distinct note of want. His cock hardened and strained against Bannon's fingers.

Zevran refrained mightily from grabbing Bannon's head, or anything that might make the elf stop what he was doing. Sweet, delicious torture. Zevran hooded his eyes and moaned again.

Then Bannon did stop. He sat up straighter, releasing Zevran's cock. The Antivan blinked. Surely... that wasn't all? The Denerim elf licked his lips again and said, "After that, things get a little hazy, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't get it quite right."

Zevran held his breath. Was he-? Yes! Bannon leaned down and took Zevran in his mouth. He was going to go through with it! Zevran quivered in excitement. He closed his left hand into a fist, gripping his hair. His right hand, he stroked up and down the centerline of his abs as he let the dark-haired elf work. Zevran moaned encouragingly, and gave him gentle hints.

Surely Bannon had the hang of it now; did he _need_ to do it so excruciatingly slowly?

Bannon didn't think he'd enjoy this part so much. He figured it was just a tool, a chore you did so you could claim the right to mount your partner. But indeed, the sounds he was wringing out of Zevran brought him great satisfaction. The control, the power, yes even the vengeance of making the Antivan come undone, the same way he completely unravelled Bannon's self control. He might even consider following the Antivan's desperate suggestions. In time.

He understood now why the Antivan enjoyed this. His own cock grew hard, and he moved to finish Zevran off. Such control. Zevran gripped his shoulders and stiffened with a cry. When his seed flooded Bannon's mouth, he swallowed reflexively. It wasn't that bad, if you didn't think about it too hard, which he didn't. He ran his tongue around his mouth and wiped his lower lip with the back of his hand while he looked down on the spent assassin, lying limp and panting. Yeah, this was so worth it.

Lazily, Zevran shifted. Bannon hooked his leg and helped him roll over without kicking him, as well as signalling what he wanted from the assassin now. The elves moved so they were kneeling close together again, this time back to front.

"Use the oil," Zevran reminded him, passing the bottle back. "Rub your hands together, so it warms."

Bannon tipped some into his palm. He rubbed his hands to coat them, then ran them over Zevran's taut ass, and lower, to slick up the opening. "Like this?" He tried to imagine the cleft as a woman's slit, but no. This was thick muscle. His cock twitched in anticipation.

"Mm, yes. More."

"Can I use it on myself? It won't sting, will it?"

"No, no; that's what it is for."

Bannon stroked himself, coating his shaft with the warm, slippery oil. His legs were trembling. Zevran reached back to guide him, shifted against him, until Bannon's head pressed against him. Then he bent over. Bannon gripped his hips, but hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you."

Zevran chuckled throatily. "You can't hurt me, lover." He pushed back, loosening to accept Bannon's cock. Bannon thrust against him. There was a moment of resistance, then he slipped into the Antivan's warm body. It felt so good, after so long...

Bannon held his control in a tight coil. But with the Antivan's assertion, he let it slip a few notches. Lust moved him. No, Zevran was no woman, and this was nothing like making love to one. The Antivan's body sealed around his cock, tighter than any woman he'd known. And stronger. Bannon thrust harder, and Zevran's body responded by tightening further.

Zevran smiled as Bannon mounted him. He wanted to study technique, did he? Zevran would show him all the tricks of the trade. He moved and clenched with his lover's rhythm. He breathily instructed his pupil, and rewarded his success with encouraging moans.

Bannon prided himself on his skills as a lover, always conscientious of pleasing his partner as much as himself. As Zevran had teased him, he'd never been with a whore. He'd never had a professional whose sole job was to pleasure him.

Until now.

Bannon let another few coils unwind from his control. Zevran was an experienced lover. He could take it. He moaned, and rocked under Bannon's thrusts. The Denerim elf grunted with exertion. Sweat beaded on his chest, slicked his skin against Zevran's back. He leaned on the Antivan, snaked his hands around to grip Zevran's cock. To make him moan some more.

He tried to follow the assassin's suggestions, though some were in Antivan. _Rapido_, he understood at least. Lips drawn back, teeth clenched, Bannon gave it to him, every inch, faster, harder. Harder than he would ever dare with a woman.

He could feel it, when the assassin's body gathered for the climax. Then, _every_ muscle in Zevran's body clenched tight. Wet heat filled Bannon's fist. Zevran's orgasm shook Bannon to his core, and he too climaxed with raw power and a shout that echoed Zevran's.

Then they were panting, heads down, weight settling back to earth.

Damn. Bannon really _did_ like having sex with men. He really liked riding Zevran like this, and he even enjoyed it immensely when the Antivan was inside him. It didn't make sense; he could never explain it, but he didn't care. His body knew what it liked and Bannon was not one to deprive himself of pleasure. Especially pleasure this intense.

The elves rolled apart. Zevran's body seemed reluctant to release him, and Bannon shivered in the aftermath. He pushed himself awkwardly up off the mat, looking for the damned rag to wipe his hands.

Zevran stretched and yawned. "I would say your studies are progressing nicely, lover. I look forward to your further education."

Bannon made a note to keep extra towels by the bedroll if they were going to keep this up. Despite his better judgment, they probably were. He cleaned himself off. "Zevran, you are," he said, choosing his words carefully, "an incredible fuck."

The Antivan grinned like a cat in the cream.

Bannon turned the lamp wick down low, so it would sputter out in a little while. He tossed the rag into the laundry pile, then brought the blanket over to the bedroll. He settled down next to the assassin's warm body.

They stroked each other for a while, palm to skin, in the afterglow, until Zevran yawned again. Bannon nudged him over on his side so he could tuck himself against the assassin's back. He draped an arm over Zevran's flank, nuzzled against his neck. Zevran sighed, and his breath deepened and slowed easily.

Bannon closed his eyes, but sleep eluded him again. He tried to imagine himself with Zevran in the future, the two rogues lying and stealing their way through the world, now as lovers: fighting by day, making love by night. His practical nature soured the very thought. By rights, he should kick the assassin out of his tent and have nothing more to do with him.

But no. It was too late for that. He'd fallen into the seducer's trap, and the thought of spending every night alone from now until the end of the Blight, cold, restless, unfulfilled, and plagued by nightmares, made him want to leap off a cliff.

Reflexively, he tightened his arm, and Zevran murmured a sleepy comment.

No, the assassin was willing and able to bed him and pleasure him. Very... _very_ able. Bannon swallowed. What was it Zevran always said? You need to take pleasure where you can get it - _when_ you can get it - because any day might be your last. That was doubly true on this insane mission.

He sighed softly against Zevran's neck. This would do.

===_X_===


	13. A Brief Respite

**A Brief Respite**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: not much  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: some referenced (m/m)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

No Dalish yet. Argh! Next chapter! Soon as I figure out what the dip is the werewolves' motivation!

_Recap:_

Redcliffe has been saved from its nightly horrors, and the Circle Mages have been saved from Uldred's demonic rule (and from the Right of Annulment). Chasing rumors of the Sacred Ashes led the group to Denerim, where Bannon discovered the Alienage was closed due to Blight Plague and decimated by a purge called by the new arl, Howe. It also led them to aid Levi Dryden and his cousin to the ancient Grey Warden stronghold, Soldier's Peak, and secured them a dark ally in Avernus, who has spent decades studying the Taint. He may find a cure... or a way to better harness it. The Sacred Ashes were discovered in Haven, and retrieved to cure Arl Eamon of his poison-induced coma.

After a detour to find Shale the golem, and a detour to Ostagar to find evidence of Loghain's dissatisfaction with Cailen's rule, and a detour to assassinate Flemeth (which, in case you forgot, Bannon totally didn't do)... The Wardens' party entered the vast Brecilian Forest in search of the Dalish clans they have a treaty with.

* * *

**A Brief Respite**

===#===

_Party Banter: Whose is Bigger?_

Zevran: Admit it. Mine is bigger than yours. And you had great difficulty handling it.

Bannon: I did not!

Zevran: My clearly superior technique says otherwise.

Bannon: Okay, fine. Sure, it's bigger -

Zevran: - and stronger! -

Bannon: And it can shoot further. But seriously, how often is that even necessary? It's not how big or how long - it's how you use it. I can handle mine just as well as you can yours.

Zevran: Yes, but when you desperately _need_ it, those extra inches are of supreme importance.

Bannon: Well, in the meanwhile, it's just big and clunky and really hard to carry around. It sticks out awkwardly while you're trying to jump over things...

Zevran: Like I said, _you_ can't handle it, Ser Short-Shaft.

Bannon: I'm ready to take you on again! Any time!

Zevran: Fine. The next time we stop, we shall whip them out and see who is the biggest _and_ the best.

Alistair: ::nearly choking:: Will you guys stop talking about - THAT!

Wynne: Seconded! Honestly, you boys!

Zevran: But Alistair, Wynne - you can clearly see that my white yew is bigger than Bannon's Matilda!

Bannon: Melinda.

Zevran: And who names a bow, anyway?

Alistair: Bow? Wait, WHAT!?

* * *

===#===

Morrigan was extremely grateful for the quick and efficient dispatching of her mother and the recovery of Flemeth's true grimoire. She'd probably spend every waking moment studying it, but Bannon had other ideas. Now that he was on the witch's 'good side' - infinitesimally small though it may be - he could use her to do the bulk of the work in finding the Dalish tribes. After all, their band could tromp through the acres of forest for months without finding a trace of the wild elves. Morrigan, on the other hand, could transform into a bird and cover much greater distances, more quickly, and with a bird's eye view. There was no refuting that logic, so Morrigan flew off, and the rest of them set up a semi-permanent camp.

It was like a little vacation, not having to walk all day, every day. Though Wynne postulated they should take some time each day for training and practice, and Alistair agreed, they all spent most of their time sitting around, tending their gear, mending items, organizing packs. There was a meadow nearby, good for sparring, racing, and archery competitions; abundant of streams and a pond for fresh water, washing, and bathing. And plenty of game. Bannon volunteered himself and Zevran to go on a hunting expedition for a few days.

They spent most of that time lazing about in the sun, waiting for a deer to happen by. Hot afternoons they spent at a shaded pool, fishing. They actually managed to catch quite a few brook trout. Zevran pronounced them rather small (compared to fish in Antiva, of course), and Bannon pronounced him chief fish-cleaner. That led to a 'discussion' typical for them.

Without anyone to cast a judgmental eye on him, Bannon became more casual in sharing pleasure with Zevran. Since they went around shirtless most of the time, there was ample opportunity to explore the planes of each other's bodies, to enjoy a sensual embrace of smooth skin on skin, of lips and tongues.

Zevran even showed him some actual massage techniques that Bannon practiced to bring more sensual pleasure to his partner. Zevran wanted to have sex on the fragrant grass or mossy sward, under the open sky or golden-green tree branches, but Bannon was insistent that any actual sex only take place inside their tent. One never knew when a certain raven would suddenly fly in and catch them in the act. It would just be hideously embarrassing for all. Well. All but the Antivan, perhaps.

On the third day, Zevran suggested just laying a trap along a deer path, since the animals weren't cooperating in walking up and being shot. Upon hearing this, Bannon jumped the annoying assassin and threw him to the ground. "You couldn't have figured that out before, and saved us from wasting our time?"

"What time wasted?" Zevran writhed provocatively under him. "Did you not want an excuse to get away from the shems for a while?"

"Hmm..." The thief pondered it. He was distracted by the play of muscles under the Antivan's skin. The sun had burnished it from bronze to walnut, while Bannon himself had turned a golden tan. He wondered if Zevran's skin still tasted the same, so he began licking and kissing the elf's sculpted torso.

"Mmm," Zevran purred, wiggling again until his hands were free to stroke the other elf's back. "Are you going to answer my question?" Bannon only made noncommittal sounds and kept on with what he was doing. "Do you even remember the question?" the Antivan groused.

"Do you?" Bannon countered. He focused on teasing Zevran's nipples to ensure the answer was 'no.'

"Hmm." It was now Zevran's turn to muse. His hands wormed their way down into the Denerim elf's pants, squeezed his firm buttocks. "Does it matter?"

"Not in the slightest."

===#===

That night, a clatter and a sharp animal cry told them the trap had worked. Zevran shoved his head under a pillow, but Bannon got up to put the thing out of its misery.

It was a young buck, its leg mangled in the trap. Bannon quickly grabbed an antler to pull its head back and cut its throat. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned around and found Zevran behind him. "I thought you were staying in bed."

"Well, I can't let you leave that on the ground." He hefted a coil of rope. "We'll have to hoist it up if we don't want wolves stealing our kill in the night. The blood scent will draw them."

"Oh, and all that squealing it was doing wouldn't attract their attention?" He bent to help the assassin truss the carcass.

Zevran didn't bother with a reply. Afterwards, he displayed a fascination with the blood on Bannon's skin. He smeared it across his chest with one palm. Bannon recalled the assassin's blood lust when they'd tortured Brother Genitivi's false servant. This time, he felt a sympathetic twinge in his groin.

"Come," Zevran said, taking him by the hand and leading him along the path. "We don't want wolves in our tent, either. We should wash off."

There was a small rill near the campsite the elves had found. They had spent a good amount of time frolicking there, and Zevran had shown Bannon a new trick or two.

In the moonlight, the water glinted like steel, making it seem even colder than it was. But Zevran insisted, so Bannon followed as he stripped down and waded in. The heat of the assassin's mouth on him was magnified by the water's chill.

The beauty of the moment swept Bannon away. He loved being with Zevran, of exploring the planes of his muscled body under the sun, of tasting his skin, feeling his strength. The fire in his lions was matched by a warmth in his chest. He loved annoying Zevran, he loved fighting him. He loved-

_Fuck._

'Love' was entirely the wrong word.

===#===

The next morning, they butchered the deer and packed up to return to the main camp. Conversation was brief. Bannon traveled in his own cloud of confusion and conflicting thoughts. If Zevran cared, he didn't show it, nor say a thing about it. Perhaps he had his own thoughts, and they probably wandered to a certain fire-haired bard.

Bannon chided himself in disgust. Why should he care?

The elves went their separate ways at camp. Alistair greeted Bannon like a long-lost brother, and they went to spar. The knight thoroughly trounced the elf.

"Well, that's not like you," Alistair said. "Is everything... all right?"

Alistair probably didn't want to know. Bannon shrugged. "Yeah, I'm just... I'm fine."

"You seem distracted."

The elf had to grimace in admittance. "Yeah, maybe I should go clean up. Help smoke those fish."

"I'd help, but since it has to do with food..." Alistair rolled his eyes at his own ineptitude. "Perhaps it's best if I don't."

Bannon chuckled, and headed back towards camp.

Still distracted, he thought to talk to Wynne about the situation. His perception of her had changed; it was something subtle. At first he thought her a typical mage, a typical human... some old biddy set in her ways and only marginally useful. But... the more he saw her in action, he began to see that she was _not_ what he expected. She truly lived the ideals she put forth.

For the first time in his adult life, Bannon found someone he could respect.

===#===

He came round her tent where she sat reading a book. "Wynne?"

She folded the book closed over an old cloth bookmark. "Oh, Bannon; I'm glad you're here. I wanted to talk to you about this relationship you've gotten yourself into."

He blinked. "You do? You mean... with Zevran?"

"Unless there's some other fellow you've been romping around with all night, keeping everyone awake."

Heat flushed his face. "Uh..." He looked down. "Sorry."

"Do you really think it's a good idea for a man in your position to be getting into such a relationship right now?"

"What?"

Wynne frowned at him. "You're a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities - dire responsibilities - to the entire nation of Ferelden."

Bannon could hardly believe his ears. "Ah, I _think_ I can handle my responsibilities and a relationship," he said in annoyance.

"You swore an oath," the mage insisted. "There may come a time when you will have to make a decision affecting the lives of everyone around you. You may need to decide whether to sacrifice the one you love, or let thousands die. Are you sure you are ready to handle that sort of decision?"

"All right, hold it." He glowered. "Zevran doesn't love me."

Wynne pulled off her reading spectacles and gave him a penetrating look. "Oh. I see."

"So there's no problem."

"But you love him," she said, barely a question.

"No!" Bannon folded his arms. When she only stared at him, he paced. "It's not like that. He's... exotic. He's... He's... talented... and available. It's a cheap thrill. It's not hurting anyone."

Wynne shook her head. "Oh, Bannon. You've got to stop this."

"What? Just dump him?"

"Yes."

He threw his hands up. "That's it? I come to you for advice, and that's it? Dump him?"

"I'm sorry it's not what you wanted to hear," she said firmly. "But that's my advice. Now that I've given it, I will say nothing more. You will do it, or not, depending on what you think is right."

"Dammit!"

"Before you can know what to do, you really ought to figure out what you really feel. And what he feels, if he is capable of having any feelings."

"If only he'd just _talk_ to me."

Wynne sighed and shook her head again. "Bannon, this is just a bad situation, all around. Can't you see that? You really need to get out of it."

He just put a hand over his face and walked away.

===#===

Morrigan returned that evening, her mission successful. With her as a guide to lead them straight on, it should only take them a few days to get to the Dalish camp.

"If they do not move it," Leliana said as they discussed things at the supper fire. "The Dalish are nomads. They travel the vast forest in their large, sailed wagons, like ships upon the sea."

"You know about the Dalish?" Bannon asked her.

"Only the lore," she admitted. "I have never actually met any."

Alistair said, "What about the lore that says they eat babies and paint their faces in blood?" He shivered at his own imagination.

Morrigan rolled her eyes and snorted.

"Oh, sorry, I must have confused Dalish lore with the stories about witches."

"I do not paint my face with blood."

"Mm hm." Alistair shot Bannon a pointed look. The elf choked down a laugh.

"It is not blood they paint their faces with," Zevran insisted. "They are tattoos. They mark the fiercest warriors."

"They could be tattooed with blood," Alistair muttered.

"Are you familiar with the Dalish, Zevran?" Leliana asked.

He shrugged. "Only as much as any city elf." He looked at Bannon.

Bannon said, "There are all kinds of crazy rumors and legends. Who knows what they're really like."

Wynne spoke up. "An important point we should all keep in mind. Most of the stories told about the Dalish are rumors, distorted with each re-telling." She looked about to see if they were attending her words, truly like a schoolmarm with her children. "We can't hold any pre-judgments about them. They are a proud race, and we don't want to insult them."

"But they do attack humans," Alistair said. "We know that."

"And that's why we should treat them with respect, like any sovereign nation."

"Warily," the canny bard supplied. "But with open arms."

"We're Grey Wardens," Bannon said with applied conviction. "And, technically, counting everyone, our troupe is less than half human." The others looked around, somewhat startled to make that realization. "And our leader is an elf. What could possibly go wrong?"

Everyone groaned loudly as he jinxed it.

"Oh, come on!"

===#===

* * *

End Notes:

_"Are you familiar with the Dalish, Zevran?" Leliana asked.  
He shrugged. "Only as much as any city elf."_

Yes, yes, Team Zevran Contingent. I know there's supposed to be this story about Zevran running off to some Dalish tribe. And then he couldn't cut it, so he returned.

THAT DOES NOT EXIST IN THIS STORY. Sorry, Zevran never told me (or Bannon) this supposed story about him escaping the Crows, and then being allowed to return. (Why he would want to, or why they didn't kill him outright remains a mystery. But not my problem.)

Nope, that was some other Zevran. Not Bannon's. ::shrug::


	14. The Dalish

**The Dalish Elves**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: not much  
Nudity: no  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Thank the Maker for Leliana! I asked her to write part of this for me. Otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken to get done!? Seven months... ow. Hopefully, I won't run into any writers' blocks that huge. Though I'm worried about Orzammar... Anyway!

Dalish, at last!

_Recap:_

Redcliffe has been saved from its nightly horrors, and the Circle Mages have been saved from Uldred's demonic rule (and from the Right of Annulment). Chasing rumors of the Sacred Ashes led the group to Denerim, where Bannon discovered the Alienage was closed due to Blight Plague and decimated by a purge called by the new arl, Howe. It also led them to aid Levi Dryden and his cousin to the ancient Grey Warden stronghold, Soldier's Peak, and secured them a dark ally in Avernus, who has spent decades studying the Taint. He may find a cure... or a way to better harness it. The Sacred Ashes were discovered in Haven, and retrieved to cure Arl Eamon of his poison-induced coma.

After a detour to find Shale the golem, and a detour to Ostagar to find evidence of Loghain's dissatisfaction with Cailen's rule, and a detour to assassinate Flemeth (which, in case you forgot, Bannon totally didn't do)... The Wardens' party entered the vast Brecilian Forest in search of the Dalish clans they have a treaty with. Morrigan has found a camp of Dalish elves and will lead the group to it.

* * *

**The Dalish Elves**

==#==

Dakorien was clan Teirhylle's greatest Hunter. His father had been First Hunter before him, as had his grandfather and grandmother. The Dalish clan divided labor among those best suited to be crafters, tanners, halla keepers, gatherers, historians and storytellers, herbalists and cooks, healers - and the most prestigious: magic-users and Hunters.

They were only hunters during times of peace. Times when they were far away from shemlen civilization. Other times, they were warriors, and their prey ran on two legs.

Clan Teirhylle was at war now, against a horrific and relentless foe. So many Hunters had died. And after they had fallen, so many innocents. Sometimes Dakorien despaired of ever seeing an end to this battle. Yet as First Hunter, it was his duty to be the first to fight, the first to fall. Like his father.

Dakorien took the far scouting mission. Not to hunt down and engage their foes, but to see from whence they would strike, to warn the dwindling Dalish forces to prepare. He had with him only Fethran and Athas, sister and brother Hunters seven years his juniors. They couldn't spare more veteran Hunters so far from camp.

They fell back to gather in an old maple when they saw something unusual in the forest. Not their bestial enemies, but... a party of travelers. Not a military group, though some of them bore weapons and armor. Not a merchant group, for they only had one small donkey cart with them. Oddest of all, they were a mix of shemlen, elves, two giants, and two dwarves. Mercenaries, most likely.

"We should kill them," Dakorien said. From the cover of the trees, the three of them could pick the strangers off with ease.

"They're not a typical band of shemlen," Athas said.

"The Keeper will want to see them," Fethran added.

"Don't we have enough problems?" Dakorien growled.

Athas might yield to his age and experience, but Fethran was not one to be cowed into changing her mind. "Zathrian should decide."

"Very well. But if they show any sign of hostility, we kill them." He hopped to a lower branch. "Stay in cover. Make sure they know they are all within killing range."

The Hunters drew their bows.

==#==

The Wardens' group made good time through the forest. For the most part, they followed a broad, flat avenue that was almost like a road, though overgrown with greenery. Alistair thought it might be an old portion of the Imperial Highway, though he speculated it was used by the Dalish to travel in those large wagons of theirs.

Bannon couldn't fathom navigating any wagon, or magical tree-ship, through a forest, but having established non-roads made sense. Bodahn and his donkey cart were grateful for the path, whatever it was.

Morrigan led them at a brisk pace, and Bannon walked with her, to keep her mollified. She really hadn't been pleased to have to do all the work. Zevran was back further, annoying Leliana and Wynne and teasing Alistair. Beyond them, Sten and Shale brought up the rear, the golem's loud footfalls muffled into deep thumps. It further flattened the path that Bodahn followed.

The late afternoon sky turned grey and tossed the treetops about. Bannon worried they would have to seek shelter and camp early if they didn't want to get soaked.

Morrigan slowed now, peering around at the rocks and trees, trying to recognize the landmarks from ground level. "We are nearing the encampment," she told Bannon as he came up beside her. "Be wary of scouts."

The Denerim elf scanned the forest, but saw no sign of anyone. He turned back to his troops. "Remember, no matter what happens, don't show any hostility. They'll be more likely to talk first instead of shooting at us."

His ears barely registered the hiss of an arrow cutting through the air before one slammed into the dirt inches from his feet. Two more arrows struck the earth, further back, on either side of the party, and they all froze.

"Hold!" a strident voice called from the trees. "You are well within range of our arrows. Surrender or be slain!"

"We are the Grey Wardens," Bannon called back. "We have no wish to fight you." He shot a glance back towards Sten and Shale to make sure they weren't doing anything that said otherwise. Except for the glowering, so far, they weren't.

Bannon looked forward again in time to see a Dalish elf drop from the trees, land in a cat-like crouch, then stand with his bow drawn in an eyeblink. "Surrender peacefully, and we will take you to our Keeper."

"We're not fighting you," Bannon said slowly. "So we can't surrender. We're allies." He stepped forward, around the arrow, holding his hands out. He cocked his head so his hair could fall away from his ear, and he gestured towards Zevran as well. "We're elves, like you. These humans... and others, are with us."

The Dalish elf was fairly tall, with long, rangy limbs. His clothing looked to be fashioned from leather, deer hide, probably. His skin was olive, his face also tall and thin like the rest of him, with an arched, hawk-like nose. His brow was tattooed in an intricate knot pattern, almost like a crown. His hair was worn long, in two leather-bound warbraids on either side of his face. And, Bannon noted with a pang of jealousy, it was deep ravens-wing black.

The Dalish elf narrowed his eyes, his arrow not wavering in its aim at Bannon's face. He spoke some lilting passage. Oh. The Dalish language. Of course.

Bannon tried to recall any of what Valendrian had taught them, but it was hopeless. He shrugged with a sheepish grin.

The Dalish elf lowered his bow. "Flat ears, as I thought," he sneered. He jerked his head and two more Dalish archers appeared out of the trees: a woman with flame-like tattoos partly obscuring her face, and a man with curling vines upon his.

The woman said, "The Keeper will definitely want to speak to them."

"Fine."

Bannon frowned. He chided himself to be diplomatic, but did that guy just insult his ears? Or his manhood!? "'Flat-ears'?"

Zevran, coming up on Bannon's left said, "He means we are city elves."

"Oh. Well that's a refreshing break from being called 'knife-ears,'" he snarked hotly.

The Dalish elf ignored him as his cohorts retrieved their arrows, giving everyone evil looks as if thinking about where they'd like to stick them. "Keep your hands away from your weapons. Follow."

_Diplomacy, diplomacy..._ Bannon said lightly, "Okay, folks, don't do anything to spook them." This earned him a scathing glance. To which he smiled broadly. "We're all friends here."

==#==

They followed the Dalish to the camp, though the only sign they neared it was when they met a pair of outlying sentries. They were younger, barely adults, with tattoo ink fresh on their faces. Dakorien (Bannon had pried their names out of them on the path) admonished them to quit staring at the golem and to keep a lookout.

There were glimpses of motion among the trees, fleeting signs of colour amidst the branches. It seemed the forest enfolded the Dalish camp, kept it safe from prying eyes. Then they came to another twist in the path, and as if by magic, the camp appeared spread out before their eyes.

Bannon saw the wagons the Dalish traveled in, but that word didn't do them justice. They were prowed, like true ships, but with many brightly-patterned wheels. They had tall masts and canopies like the sails of a ship, but they covered the area like the vast tent in the Denerim market.

"This is the center of our encampment," Dakorien said, with a tinge of pride.

Bannon, wanting to show off his elven lore, asked, "Where is your vhenedahl?"

"The what?"

"Don't you have a large tree in the center of your camp? Decorated and venerated as a symbol of your ancestry? We have one in the alienage." Hah, these fancy elves didn't even have a vhenedahl!

Dakorien actually stopped and looked at him. "One tree? Is that all you have?"

"Well..." He looked around at all the trees. "Yes. As a reminder of our heritage."

"That is sad, indeed," Fethran remarked. The other Hunter, Athas muttered something that sounded like 'pathetic.'

Dakorien just shook his head. "The First will be tending to the fallen. Mischea!" he called to another youngster running through the camp, bearing supplies like the servants at Ostagar had. The Hunter asked him something in the Dalish tongue, and the kid replied, pointed, then scampered on.

The Hunter led them around a quadrangle of prowed forest ships that stood open like shops within the city. Beyond them were more canopies, tents that housed rows of cots, and those tending the stricken.

"What ails your people?" Wynne asked.

"Nothing that concerns you, shem."

"I am a healer. I could perhaps be of aid."

"We have our own healers," the Dalish elf snapped. He led them to another tent, then directed his Hunters to guard the Wardens' company outside.

Wynne followed him boldly, not having been specifically barred. Bannon went after her, followed by Leliana. "You should stay outside," he whispered to her, as he motioned the others to stay put. "You know the Dalish don't believe in the Maker."

"I would not give offense by saying my prayers aloud. I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid."

"You're-" but Bannon bit his tongue. This was not the time nor place to bring that up. He continued after Wynne.

The hospital tent smelled of old blood and elfroot tincture. They weren't sick, Bannon realized, but injured. Had the darkspawn attacked? But he didn't sense any Taint. Well, if it was darkspawn, the Dalish should be eager to help the Grey Wardens. They would have to evacuate, but with those forest-ships, that shouldn't be a problem for them. He could direct them towards Redcliffe, to meet up with the Wardens' other allies.

An older woman stood beside one of the beds, attended by two of the younger elves. Dakorien stood off a moment, giving the outsiders a dark glare to warn them against disturbing the healers.

She, the clan's First, bent over the elf lying in the cot, his brow slick with sweat. She pressed a finger to his upper lip, lifting it to inspect his teeth. What she saw darkened her mien.

"I am so sorry."

"I will take Falon'Din's cup," he said in a raspy voice.

The First nodded and turned to one assistant for the cup. The thick black liquid she poured into it could only be concentrated Deathroot. Wynne gasped as the healer helped the warrior sit up to drink.

The Hunter lay back and the First held her hand over his eyes as his breathing became ragged. He shuddered a moment, then lay still.

It couldn't be the Taint. What the hell? Bannon gripped Wynne's arm to keep her from moving forward or saying anything. This was not the time, nor the place. The Dalish could be violent, and clearly set in their barbaric ways.

Dakorien spoke briefly with the First. She spared barely a glance for Bannon and his companions before directing him to take them to Zathrian, the clan's leader. The Hunter returned the way they had come, sending the humans and city elf before him with another glare.

Beside Bannon, Wynne thrummed with barely contained rage. She at least held it in check until they were three steps outside of the tent. Then she exploded. "What is wrong with you? You killed that young man in there! And for what?"

Dakorien whirled on her, his teeth showing in a snarl. "You know nothing of what goes on here!"

Bannon jumped in front of Wynne, trying to calm her and protect her all at once. She was not in a mood to listen. "Your people aren't sick, they need healers! I could have done something with my magic. You people are bar-!"

"Wynne, not now!" Bannon wondered how many arrows he'd have to catch with his body to protect the old mage.

Then Leliana touched Wynne's arm. "There is an ailment here. One beyond healing."

The old mage creased her brow in puzzlement at the bard. Bannon took the opportunity to try to smooth things over. "We'll find out what's going on when we meet the hahren."

Dakorien stopped scowling and looked surprised a moment.

"We have hahrens, too, you know," Bannon said.

The Dalish elf snorted, but at least no one got shot. He led them to another part of the camp, a gathering area where an aged elf was telling a story to a group of young children. That broke up quickly. It seemed a good story couldn't beat a circus troupe of elves, humans, giants, dwarves, and most exotic of all, a donkey. "Dah'ren, why doesn't that halla have any antlers? And it has spots!"

The Keeper of Clan Teirhylle was Zathrian, an older elf of indeterminate age. He was devoid of hair, which was a rare thing among elves. He had old eyes of dark slate, and a tattoo of curled branches gracing his forehead and cheeks. He wore a dark robe and carried a grey wooden staff.

Dakorien explained what little he knew of the Wardens' presence in the clan's territory. Bannon fidgeted to tell his version of the story. He and Alistair, when pressed, presented the ancient treaties, but the elf had a sinking feeling that he knew how this would go.

"Of course we shall aid the Grey Wardens," Zathrian said. "Were we able. But we cannot come to your aid without your aid to our people first."

Bannon stifled a groan. Leliana nearly trod on his foot as she stepped up. "Venerable Keeper, we wish to aid your people. My companion here is an accomplished healer; we will lend you all our skills and strength."

The elf shook his head. "It is not healers that we need."

"What is it, then?"

"Sit, and take sustenance. I will tell you of our curse."

==#==

The sky grumbled, and rain hissed on the canopy of leaves and cloth overhead, but none reached the ground below. At Zathrian's request, the Wardens' group was brought cold bread and meat. They sat around the Dalish Keeper, on various stumps.

"My people are not afflicted with any natural disease or plague," Zathrian began. "They are cursed."

Zevran muttered, "Well, at least we're in no danger of sickening."

"Who has cursed your people?" Wynne asked.

"Another damned mage," Alistair grumbled. Zathrian glared at him and he blanched. "Sorry, Ser Keeper."

Zathrian gestured. "This area of the Brecilian is haunted. The Veil is thin here, and spirits and demons seep through." He shot a glance at Zevran. "Do not think you are safe. When we came here a moon ago, a small pack of werewolves harried us. No one was killed. Our Hunters slayed several and drove them off.

"We set up our camp, we healed the wounded. But they fell sick. Within three days they turned into savage, feral beasts. They ravaged us here, in the sanctity of our camp." He sighed and looked at the ground. "We had to slay them. But everyone who was bitten... they, too, became werewolves. They turned on their own people. We were attacked from without and from within."

"That his horrid," said Leliana.

Bannon asked, "Why can't you flee?"

The Keeper shook his head. "The beasts would be upon us. They attack anyone leaving the camp - Hunters, Healers, messengers."

"They didn't attack us." Bannon assessed their chances of getting away.

"You were clearly not with us. Now that you are here, if you are seen leaving, that will be another matter."

"How convenient," Zevran muttered darkly, shooting a glare at Dakorien.

Wynne leaned forward. "Why are they specifically targeting your clan?"

"They are not."

Bannon added, "You just said they didn't attack us because we weren't with you."

"Speculation." Zathrian dismissed that with a wave. "I do not know why these beasts do what they do. They are mad savages."

Morrigan spoke from her position at the edge of the group. "Then it seems clear. We need to kill these beasts and move on. You will need to abandon your people who are ill, or cull them, and leave. Fight your way free."

Alistair twisted to look at her. "Did your mother send you just to point out the worst plan in every situation?"

Once more Wynne cut through potential arguments and strife. "Keeper Zathrian, is there no cure? Does everyone succumb after three days?"

"The Healers of tried everything. They can stave off the curse for a day or two. There were some with minor wounds. They grew feverish, but with care, they escaped the curse and so far have not turned into beasts."

"You must be bitten to turn into a werewolf," Zevran said.

"So the legends tell," added Leliana.

Zathrian folded his hands. "I have studied all of our old lore, and may have a way to lift the curse."

"Do tell," Morrigan prompted with skepticism.

"There is a great white wolf in the forest."

"Witherfang," Dakorien growled.

"Our people call him Witherfang." Zathrian nodded. "He is possessed by a demon, and is the source of this curse."

"So," said Zevran, "kill the source, and the curse ends?"

"Not quite. But kill this beast and bring me its heart-" The Keeper paused to let a rumble of thunder roll by. "I will perform a ritual to save my people."

Sten grumbled, "Now we are to become butchers instead of warriors?"

"It seems like it," Alistair said.

Bannon chewed his lip. "So all you need from us is to kill this demon wolf and bring back its heart? Does it need to be in one piece?"

"No."

The Denerim elf shrugged. "Seems easy enough." He looked around at his companions.

"Do not forget avoiding the bite of the werewolves," Morrigan reminded him. "Presumably, they will be in the company of this beast." She raised a questioning brow to Zathrian.

He nodded. "They will."

"So how many werewolves are we talking about, here?" Bannon asked.

"Near a hundred. Perhaps more. We do not know the full size of the pack that attacked us."

"That's a lot," Alistair interjected.

Wynne said, "Their number has increased with the afflicted of your people?"

Zathrian nodded sadly. "We have tried to prevent their turning. When that fails, we try to kill them mercifully. But some have slipped away. Some are able to run off before their madness makes them attack."

A look of sympathetic concern passed over most of the companion's faces. What a terrible fate, to be stripped of your mind, turned into a beast, and driven mad enough to harm the ones you love, your own people. Bannon took a breath. "All right, so where can we find this Witherfang?"

"The cursed wolf is somewhere deep in the forest. Our Hunters have not been able to find him, or the den this pack may be using."

"Yeah, a whole clan full of Hunters and you still can't kill one wolf." Bannon grinned, not looking at Dakorien. He imagined he could hear the Dalish elf's teeth grinding, though. "Well, we can certainly do that for you. Soon as the rain lets up."

Zathrian dipped his head in gratitude. "We will see you have a place to rest. The gods know, we have enough empty aravels."

==#==

After they finished their cold repast, the three Hunters brought them to a trio of smaller 'home' aravels, their canopies extended over a central fire pit. Bodahn was invited to park his cart in one of the open corners.

"You will stay within your cluster until we come to fetch you at morning's light," Dakorien instructed. "Do not wander, or it may be taken amiss." Was he skewering Bannon with a look, there? It made the thief itch to sneak off.

"What if I need to take a leak?" Zevran asked.

"Ask one of your guards to escort you."

"Ah, just like old times." Now the assassin skewered Bannon with a glare.

The thief pointedly ignored him. He said to the Dalish elf, "Look, you don't need to put a guard on us. We're your allies, remember?"

This was met only with a scowl. Dakorien tried to leave, but Leliana stepped in front of him.

"Please," she asked with folded hands and bowed head, "I would like to learn more about your people. Wynne, our healer, would also like to speak with your herbalists and share knowledge."

"No." The Hunter brushed past her.

"Can at least your storyteller visit our fire?" she pleaded at his back. "We would welcome any who wished to come and speak with us."

"You're wasting your breath," Bannon told her as he set down his pack. The others moved about the novel campsite, settling in. "That guy is a real dick."

"A stuck-up _bicho_," Zevran agreed.

"Really? Here I was prepared to hear you go on about how _sexy_ he was, and making doe eyes in his general direction, hoping to get into his pants."

Zevran snorted. "If you find him so sexy, _mi patrone_, please, have at him."

Bannon reddened. "Of course I don't!"

"Bannon," Wynne said. "You really could have handled this whole situation a lot better. She fixed him with the wise woman disapproving eye.

"I agree," Leliana said. "Your usual displomacy was, well... lacking, yes?"

"Yeah," added Alistair.

Oh, even Alistair thought so? "Come on! The guy insulted my ears."

They just looked at him with more disapproval. Wynne, especially, made him feel like a five-year-old.

Leliana said, "And you insulted the clan's Hunters. Does that make you feel better?"

He flushed again. "All right, all right. We got off on the wrong foot, and I'll try to be nice. But don't expect much in return." He glowered in the direction Dakorien had gone. Then he shook himself. "It looks like they expect us to make do with our own supplies now, so what's for dinner?"

"We just ate!" Wynne exclaimed.

"I know! I'm thinking ahead."

==#==

A little while later, Leliana brought out her lute. "Now, everyone," she said to the gathering, "Summer Solstice is almost upon us. Let us practice a few songs."

Everybody groaned. But they were trapped.

"Celebrate with prayers and hymns, hm?" Zevran groused. "Can we not celebrate in Antivan style?"

"No," Leliana and Bannon said emphatically. The assassin sighed in defeat.

"What is singing?" Sten asked.

"Seriously," Alistair asked. "You don't know what singing is?"

"I have a suspicion."

Leliana said, "How do your people celebrate holidays, Sten?"

"We do not have such frivolity."

"You do not have music?"

"What would be its purpose?"

The bard said, "It lifts the spirit, or expresses emotion. It binds people together in a way that simple words and simple sounds alone cannot."

"It sounds like magic."

Leliana dimpled. "Perhaps it is, in a way."

"I do not like it."

"You haven't even tried it yet," Alistair pointed out.

Shale said, "What is Summer Solstice?"

Whereupon Leliana explained the turning of the year, and festivals people celebrated at such times.

"There are flowers?" Shale pursed his stone lips. "I remember flowers in the village. They are pretty." Then he scowled. "I am not to be decorated with flowers." Everyone quickly reassured him that would not happen.

Then Morrigan said, "There are certain members of our company who should be exempt from this singing. I chief among them."

"Oh ho, no," Alistair said. "This, I have to hear!" Morrigan glowered at him.

"Nobody is exempt," Bannon insisted, to keep the peace. Sten and Shale frowned stonily at him. This was going to be a trick. "You have to at least hum!"

"We will start with something light and simple," Leliana said. "Bodahn, do you know any dwarven drinking songs?"

"Ah, uh, well, let me think," the dwarf stammered.

Bannon asked Leliana, "Do we have to do this now? The Dalish might not appreciate us singing while their people are dying. Or worse."

She conspiratorially leaned closer to him. "It is a ploy, yes? Any bard worth his salt, from any culture, would be interested in hearing new music. I did tell our guards that we would welcome any elves who wished to visit our fire."

An interesting move. Bannon nodded.

Zevran said, "We can attract quite the crowd with our sparring, eh?" He elbowed Bannon with a lewd wink. The assassin had invited himself into the sotto voce conversation, leaning quite close to Bannon. The Denerim elf felt his face heat again, and he shoved Zevran away.

Leliana said, "Fighting may frighten them more than attract them. Especially the youngsters. Besides, you do not want them to know all your strengths, do you?"

Zevran muttered, but could not argue that point.

==#==

Bodahn did not know a dwarven drinking song suitable for mixed company. Sandahl, however, knew a perfect song; easy to learn, simple in rhythm, and eminently adaptable. Leliana even got the company singing in rounds.

Alistair sang well, with enthusiasm. Presumably, he sang in the Chantry as a child and as a Templar pledge. Morrigan had to be coaxed. She could have a strong voice, with training, but as it was, her shyness led her to strangle her notes. Wynne had a decent voice, once she warmed up. The dwarves sang robustly, and the bass from the qunari and golem was incredible, if a bit raw and unnuanced.

The true surprise was with the elves. Zevran's voice had a bit of a strain to it, as if it pained him to sing. Bannon had a voice like a troubadour. Leliana recalled his talent at imitating voices, as well. If he had been Orlesian, he could have made quite the name for himself as an elven bard.

"Bannon, that is amazing," she said. "We must sing a duet at the Solstice celebration."

"I agree," Zevran added. "I knew you had a honeyed tongue!" He leered at the Warden, and Bannon flushed from all the praise and attention.

"I, uh, look, I don't really sing."

"Yes, you do," Leliana insisted. "You sing beautifully."

Alistair and Wynne agreed, making the elf blush further.

Leliana strummed her lute with a quiet smile. She looked past the wheels of their aravels to the curious eyes and ears that had gathered. "Now who else would like to share a song?"

Many of the eyes winked out of existence, like stars at dawn. Then an elven man stepped between the aravels. "I am Sarel," he said. "Clan Teirhylle's storyteller."

"Welcome to our fire," Leliana said. "I am afraid I do not know your customs in greetings and introduction. I am Leliana, bard to the Grey Wardens. Will you teach us more about your people?"

Sarel, his face decorated in the manner of his people, glanced around; uneasily at first, at the mixed company, then bolstered by the presence of the youngsters behind him. "Yes. I shall."

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

For your amusement... Sandahl's Song. (My Brain... I swear!)

The wheels on the cart  
go round and round  
round and round  
round and round!  
The wheels on the cart  
go round and round  
All the live-long day.

The donkey on the cart  
goes bray bray bray  
bray bray bray  
bray bray bray!  
The donkey on the cart  
goes bray bray bray  
All the live-long day.

The dwarves on the cart  
go buy this spoon  
buy this spoon  
buy this spoon!  
The dwarves on the cart  
go buy this spoon  
All the live-long day.

The elves on the cart  
go fight fight fight  
fight fight fight  
fight fight fight!  
The elves on the cart  
go fight fight fight  
All the live-long day.

The mages on the cart  
go zap and swoosh  
zap and swoosh  
zap and swoosh!  
The mages on the cart  
go zap and swoosh  
All the live-long day.

The bard on the cart  
goes la la la  
la la la  
la la la!  
The bard on the cart  
goes la la la  
All the live-long day.

The Templar on the cart  
goes fear my sword  
fear my sword  
fear my sword!  
The Templar on the cart  
goes fear my sword!  
All the live-long day.

The qunari on the cart  
goes grump grump grump  
grump grump grump  
grump grump grump!  
The qunari on the cart  
goes grump grump grump  
All the live-long day.

The golem on the cart  
goes STOMP STOMP STOMP  
STOMP STOMP STOMP  
STOMP STOMP STOMP!  
The golem on the cart  
goes STOMP STOMP STOMP  
All the live-long day.


	15. The Haunted Forest

**The Haunted Forest **

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: a bit  
Violence: a bit  
Nudity: no  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Two scenes of this were written years (and years) ago. See if you can spot them...

_Recap:_

The group met the Dalish, the Chief Hunter Dakorien, and the Keeper Zathrian. Of course the elves cannot honor the treaty while so many of the clan are stricken with a deadly illness - the curse of the werewolves.

Zathrian has sent the Wardens' group into the Brecilian forest to hunt down a demon-possessed white wolf named Witherfang. With this beast's heart, the Keeper can cure the curse.

* * *

**The Haunted Forest**

===#===

The next morning found the Wardens' party (save for Bodhan) tromping through the mud and wet greenery left by last night's rain. Zevran minced around a puddle, trying in vain to keep his Antivan leather boots clean. "You know, I am a city elf," he griped. "I do not care for all this wilderness. It's just so... dirty."

"Yeah," Bannon agreed. "And the roads suck." He winced as another tree branch dumped a splash of water onto his helmet.

"If you hadn't insulted the Dalish Hunters, they might have come along to guide us," Wynne chided him. The damp and mud had soured her temper as well.

"We do not need them," Bannon said again. "They couldn't find this stupid White Fang-"

"Witherfang," Leliana corrected.

"-in all the weeks they've been here."

"You imagine we will find this wolf? A large group, stomping around? No offense, Shale. Any game will run off well before we arrive."

"I agree with Wynne," Morrigan said. "Your plan of wandering around aimlessly, waiting to get attacked, is a new level of stupidity, even for you."

Alistair came to the defense of his fellow Warden. "Well, it's worked pretty well for us so far."

"Endorsed by Alistair," the witch bemoaned sarcastically. "I rest my case."

"Name one instance where whatever the evil bad guy was, it didn't attack us!"

"This is pointless," Sten declared, smacking aside an offending branch. The branch retaliated by splashing rainwater across his chest. "I am a warrior, not a hunter. I thought I made this clear already."

"Sten," Bannon snapped, "we're heading into the woods. When any werewolves jump out and attack us, feel free to fight them, or you can stand there like an idiot if you really prefer. _We_'ll kill the damned wolf."

"Is there going to be squishing this time?" The golem was the next to complain. "There hasn't been squishing for _days_ on end. It promised me squishing."

"Shale, if the werewolves attack, we're all going to hide behind you, since it's unlikely they can actually bite you without breaking their teeth. Feel free to squish them all." Bannon stomped off, splashing up mud, to put some distance between him and everyone else. "Maybe Zevran and I should scout ahead again." He didn't wait for any replies. He had no patience for dealing with anything this morning. He hadn't slept well, and he had a headache. His very bones ached with the memory of nightmares full of dark fire.

===#===

The two elves moved ahead of the group in a light, stealthy tread that was second nature to both of them. They appeared to be in harmony with the natural surroundings, but that was not the case. Their ears twitched at every bird call or squeak of an unseen creature in the underbrush, unable to identify most of what they heard. At least nothing presaged an attack. Yet.

They moved far enough ahead that even Shale's booming footsteps faded out. Still, no white wolves appeared, no werewolves attacked. The path twisted and meandered, then narrowed into a simple game trail. Then that, too, petered out in a small, grass clearing. The two elves looked around, but could not discern anything but more trees and forest in all directions. A ridge of ground rose up in a small, sharp rise, like a wrinkle in the earth of the forest floor.

"Dead end?" Zevran asked.

"Maybe this is the 'heart of the forest,'" Bannon groused. He shrugged. There really wasn't anything stopping them from walking over the grass, climbing the little ridge, and continuing on in their general direction. Zevran moved further into the clearing, where a bit of weak dappled sun lay on the ground, and Bannon followed. A breeze picked up, rattling the tree branches overhead.

"You know what I like about you?" Zevran said, stopping to face him. "You may have been stuck in a city all your life, but you are not like some of those helpless city elves who completely lose it in the wilderness. Afraid of bears, or shying at every rock, every-"

"_Tree!_" Bannon yelled, pointing over Zevran's shoulder.

Zevran gave him a blase` look. "Yeah, like that. Very funny."

"It's moving!" Bannon screamed.

This time, Zevran rolled his eyes. "Honestly! It's just the wi-"

Bannon tackled him, and they both slammed into the ground as a large branch whooshed over their heads.

Zevran blinked in total surprise, now that he could see the tree bending over them. "That tree is attacking us!" he blurted.

"That's what I said!"

"You did not specify-!" Zevran's eyes flew wider, and he shoved the Denerim elf off. Bannon rolled one way and the Antivan another, and the branch slammed down between them, kicking up clods of wet earth. The branch pulled back, raking furrows in the ground.

The elves leapt to their feet, swords bared in a flash. Just then, they heard Alistair bellowing as he charged into the clearing. He ran straight at the animated tree and rammed into the trunk with a crunch. Judging by how the tree did not budge, it was his shoulder that had made the noise. "Ouch," Alistair ventured breathlessly.

Living wood groaned and creaked above them as the tree shifted its weight. One of its dual trunks stepped aside. "Do something!" Alistair yelled at the stunned elves. "Stab it in the back!"

"Which end is supposed to be the back?" Bannon retorted, ducking another swipe of the branch. "What do you want me to do? Look for moss?"

"I don't know," the Templar yelled back. He could just hear armsmaster Warrick yelling at him, _A sword is not for chopping wood!_ as he started hacking away at the thick trunk before him. A sword wasn't an axe, either. Only a few small splinters flew out. Chopping down a whole tree would take forever!

"Go for the eyes!" Alistair yelled desperately. "Hit it in some vulnerable spot!" Wasn't that how rogues fought? This dancing around the waving branches wasn't accomplishing anything!

Zevran's ire was clear in the stress of his breathy accent and rolled R's. "Is a tree! It doesn't have any vulnerable spots!" He jumped back, barely dodging the branch that clubbed the ground where he'd been standing. Gamely, he chopped down with his sword and managed to strip off a few boughs. The tree didn't seem to notice.

Another tree uprooted itself and plodded towards the rest of the companions. They halted and fanned out at the edge of the clearing. Leliana loosed a bolt at a cluster of leaves that looked like a face at the crown of the tree. It hissed harmlessly through the foliage and disappeared beyond.

Sten lowered his head and rushed under the great limb that swept towards them. Morrigan collected her power with a sweep of her arms and cast it out towards the tree. It shuddered to a halt, crackling as white ice encased it.

Sten's maul slammed into the trunk, which cracked like the surface of a frozen pond giving way. Shale ran up beside him and tackled the tree, with much more success than Alistair had. The frozen tree toppled over as the companions scattered, and it shattered into a thousand icy shards.

Meanwhile, Alistair hacked away at the first tree's trunk while it tried to squash the nimble elves. He'd managed to chop a cut deep enough to make it bleed sap. It didn't seem to be slowing the tree down any.

Wynne looked on in concern. She turned to Morrigan, who stood beside her. "Can't you do something?" she asked the witch.

Morrigan nodded. However, she didn't make a move, just to irritate the Circle mage. "If they manage to get it away from the other trees, we can burn it." Wynne just huffed in impatience.

Leliana had the same idea. She busied herself with a lantern and her crossbow.

Another tree tore its roots from the ground and stomped into the clearing. The bard fired a flaming bolt, this time aiming lower, at the body of the trunk. The flames leapt hungrily at the bark, and the tree creature began to burn more rapidly than wet green wood had any right to.

The thing let out a shriek and began to turn. If it fled in a panic, it could set the whole forest on fire. Wynne darted into its path and traced a quick paralysis rune with her staff. The tree stopped in its tracks.

"Try not to set the entire forest on fire," Morrigan suggested.

"The wood is wet enough, no?"

"Hey!" Bannon yelled over at them. "A little help, here?" He waved his sword at the tree he was fighting and danced back towards the rune circle. The tree swung at him but didn't seem at all interested in moving _towards_ fire.

Sten and Shale went over and started smashing the other trunk-leg, while Alistair continued to be ineffectual on the first one. Wood splintered and thudded, then a mighty crack broke the air. It reverberated up from the bottom of the tree creature to the top, and the creature tottered.

Everyone ran away as the tree fell. There was a cacophony of crashing branches and a yell amidst it. Bannon stopped short and turned. "Alistair!" The Templar had vanished under the canopy.

Bannon, Leliana, Wynne, and Zevran fought their way through the foliage, and at last found him, mostly unharmed. Wynne cast a minor healing spell to at least help with his shoulder.

"'Tis a good thing you were scouting ahead so we could avoid any dangerous creatures," Morrigan snipped as they disentangled themselves from the branches.

"It was a _tree!_" Bannon yelled back. "They're all trees! We can't avoid trees in a forest!"

"Perhaps we should stick together, then," Wynne said.

"Yeah, all right," their leader agreed.

===#===

The band made their way further into the forest. They were attacked by three bears and a pack of wolves, though no white ones.

"What the hell?" Bannon griped. "Why are all these animals attacking us? They're not Tainted."

Morrigan said, "I told you, the Veil is thin in these woods. Anything could be possessed by a demon or spirit."

"Like a demon bush?" Alistair wondered.

Bannon looked around for Zevran to make a comment on that one, but the assassin had wandered off. "We can't get attacked by the one huge possessed animal we want?"

"'Tis your stupid plan, not mine."

Alistair said, "Well, do you know a spell that will attract a demon wolf? Maybe a witch-deer."

"If you want to be bait, Alistair, please just say the word."

Then Zevran called, "I found something!"

They turned towards the Antivan who was off in the bushes, looking down into a declivity. Leliana hurried over in curiosity, then yelped. "Zevran! Could you have at least finished, first?" She looked away, her face reddening.

"I thought you would want to know right away."

"Are you done yet?" Alistair wanted to know. Or perhaps not, at least not in detail.

"Never mind that, _what_ did you find?" Bannon called.

"It appears to be a camp."

"Is it the werewolves?"

"It is far too small for a hundred werewolves." Zevran rearranged his kilt and smirked a smile at Leliana. "It is safe now for blushing maidens. Though I did not know you blushed like a maiden, my dear."

Morrigan sighed at the idiocy of it all. "Wolves live in caves, not camps."

Bannon said, "Let's check it out. Whoever it is might know where to find this Weather-Fang."

"Witherfang!" Leliana corrected him again.

"Now there's an idea," Bannon said, picking a path down the edges of the declivity. "How about we go around calling, 'Here, Witherfang! Here, boy!'?"

Both Morrigan and Leliana sighed.

"Or, Leliana, you can play the tune that soothes the savage beast, and lures it over here, so we can kill it."

Almost everybody groaned. Even Sten.

"Come on, that was funny!"

===#===

The camp was quite cozy, nestled in its own little hollow in the woods. There was only one way in or out. There was even a little babbling brook nearby, lending a cheerful air. Leliana commandeered the first bedroll, and Zevran curled up beside her. Bannon stumbled past them.

How could a mat and a roll of blankets look so soft and warm and clean and inviting? It was perfect, and exactly what Bannon needed right now; calm restful sleep. While someone else made lunch. He ordered them to make lunch, he thought. No one answered, but oh well. Wynne started saying something, but that didn't matter either.

He lay down and fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

===#===

Featherbeds. Big, fluffy, downy, featherbeds. The size of a whole room. A whole apartment. A sea of softness and linen. Bannon could live like this. Just barely awake enough to really enjoy being asleep!

He sighed contentedly, but then frowned. Was there something in the bed with him? He rolled to a new spot. No, now something was poking his toe. He tucked his legs up. Something tickled his leg, his side, tickling up his arm. He rolled over, grabbed a pillow, and clamped it down over his head. He did _not_ want to wake up. All an elf wanted was some sleep, here!

He heard a rustle, something inside the cozy cave under the pillow. Bannon twitched as something tickled his ear, then- "OW!"

===#===

Bannon dreamt he sat bolt upright in bed. But that's not what happened. He tried to, but he didn't move. His eyes were pressed shut, and a weight crushed down on his chest. He forced heavy eyelids open, just a crack, until he could see vague shadows.

Something, something black and evil, sat on his chest. Darkspawn! He struggled to move, to throw it off or grapple it, but his limbs were so heavy, so slow. _Fight!_ Panic welled up within him as his air ran out.

"Alistair!" he heard Wynne cry out. Bannon's eyes roamed towards the sound; his vision began to clear. A shadow demon crouched on him, its hands around his throat. There were others, some latched onto his companions, and dozens more harrying the old mage and the golem.

Wynne cast magic upon them from her staff, but there were too many. They closed, and she was reduced to swinging the staff like a simple weapon. Shale tried to hit them, but his big stone fists only swirled them around like smoke. They reformed and massed.

Bannon sucked air in desperation, thrusting one hand ineffectually against his attacker.

They were going to die.

Then there was a flash of white light centered on Wynne. The demons screeled and shriveled in to onslaught. Then there was a brilliant, silent explosion. The wraith on Bannon dissipated into ash, as did all the rest.

He sat up, gasping, looking to Wynne. He didn't see her for a moment, but then he found her, lying limp upon the ground at Shale's feet.

His limbs still uncoordinated and unresponsive, he scrabbled to get up. Alistair got there before him. "Get away from her," he snapped at the golem, then he dropped to his knees at her side. "Wynne!" He touched her shoulder gently, helplessly. "Wynne?"

Where were the healing potions? Bannon dug one from his belt pouch, nearly fumbling and dropping it as he fell in beside Alistair.

Wynne groaned softly and the Wardens breathed a sigh of relief. Alistair helped her sit up while Bannon uncorked the vial. "Here, drink this."

"No... No, I'm all right." She pushed weakly at his hand. After a moment, she caught her breath and sat up straighter. "I'm fine."

"You do not look fine," Alistair said worriedly. Bannon had to agree. She looked like death warmed over.

"Well, I'll _be_ fine, in just a minute."

There was a groan, followed by a few others. Bannon looked around at the camp - well, it wasn't a camp, it was more of boneyard. The Wardens' companions stirred and started to wake up. They disentangled themselves from the leaf-strewn tatters of old blankets and tents. Bannon sat back on his heels and re-corked the vial before it got spilled. "What was that?" he asked, rubbing his throat.

"What happened?" Leliana asked groggily. A moment later, there was a slap, and Zevran yelped.

"It looks like a trap," Morrigan said. She pushed to her feet a bit unsteadily, and started brushing leaves from her clothing.

Wynne said, "There were ash wraiths. Controlled by a sloth demon, probably."

"We are lucky to have awakened," the witch admitted.

"But what was that light?" Bannon asked.

Alistair said, "I thought I saw a figure, like..." His breath caught. "Was it... the Maker?"

"No," Wynne said quickly, shaking her head. She moved as if to stand, but then quickly decided sitting a while more would be better. "It was a spirit."

"Where did that come from?"

The mage sighed. "It came from me, Alistair."

His mouth gaped. "I don't... think I understand?"

Bannon pursed his lips. "That question you asked me, about being possessed but retaining your humanity." He narrowed his eyes at Wynne. "That wasn't really hypothetical, was it?"

"What?" Alistair looked between him and Wynne, confused. Confused and... uneasy.

Wynne avoided their gazes. Then she sighed. "Yes, it's true."

"You're an abomination!?" The Templar yelped.

"No! Or... yes. Maybe."

Alistair choked and sputtered. Bannon edged closer before his Templar training took over. "Look," he said forcefully, "an abomination is a mage possessed by a _demon._ And spirits are not demons. Right?"

"I..." Alistair gulped. "I don't know. I've never heard of such a thing. How do you _know_ it's not a demon?" he asked Wynne. "And how did you summon it?"

"I met a spirit in the Fade," Wynne said. "Not a demon. It has no interest in visiting the realm of Reality or possessing a mage. We just... talked occasionally."

"You had an imaginary friend," Alistair said flatly. "Only a real one."

The others slowly gathered around. Wynne looked up at them, seeming small in the wet leaf litter amidst them. She looked back to Alistair to answer his question. "Yes. I got the feeling this spirit was one of peace, strength, and wisdom. Anyway," she wet her lips and glanced around at the company, "in the Tower, during the battle, I... I was putting up the barrier to seal the demons in when I saw one slip through and come at me. I couldn't defend myself; I had to complete the ward to keep the children safe."

She took a slow, deep breath. "I... died."

They all could only stare.

"I... well, I was knocked to the floor, but I didn't feel any pain. I couldn't move..." She chewed her lip. "Then I felt a familiar presence. I heard his voice. I... well, he asked if I needed help."

"This spirit you knew," Alistair clarified. "Then, what, he took over your body?"

"It wasn't like that. Yes, I made a deal, if you will, and let the spirit live within me. If I hadn't, I'd be dead, and... well, all the mages in that Tower..." Her voice strengthened. "So I said yes."

"This spirit," Bannon asked, "is keeping you alive? You're immortal?"

"No," Wynne insisted. "He only healed my injuries and... well, kept body and soul together. But that can only get me so far. I'm old. And I can be damaged beyond repair. Killed."

"And this," Bannon waved a hand at the suddenly demonless camp, "thing. That you do? Or he does?"

Wynne looked down. "He can leave my body for a short time. But not long, not often. My strength wanes without his support."

So that's what he'd seen in the Fade, in Wynne's dream. The spirit Templar. And... when he'd been lyrium addled? Bannon glanced over Wynne's head, but of course there was nothing there. That he could see. Was it awake now, listening?

"Now that you know, what is to be my fate?" Wynne asked quietly. "Execution as an abomination? Or used as a weapon by the Grey Wardens?"

Alistair and Bannon exchanged uneasy glances. The elf bit his lip. Why did all his best weapons come with some problem or other? Sten the great fighter was suicidal and contrary; Shale the powerful golem was uncontrollable and dangerous, and now this devastating spirit attack came with the price of Wynne's dwindling life. _Dammit!_

"All that talk you gave me, about being a Warden, how I need to make sacrifices? And having to value the lives of everyone else above my own?" Bannon frowned at her.

She nodded. "That's why I demanded to come with you. There was no sense to staying cloistered in the Tower, hoarding my life to myself. Not when the need was so great."

Bannon groaned inwardly. "Well, fine. But I also didn't heed your advice about not developing any feelings for anyone. So... I will leave it up to you how and when you use your powers."

"You cannot be serious," Sten said. "Has your mind already been taken over? This is a monster, and it is madness to let it live."

"Look, she's _not_ an abomination. A spirit is not a demon."

"There is no difference."

"I can tell the difference."

Leliana said, "There is no evil, here."

Zevran shrugged. "If you are indeed dead," he said flippantly to Wynne, "I cannot tell. And I do believe I am an expert on such things."

Sten turned to glare down at Alistair. "Does not your order deal with such monsters?"

Everyone looked to the Templar. Conflicting emotions crossed his face. "It's true," he said hesitantly. "The order doesn't distinguish between demons and benign spirits." Leliana drew a breath and held it. Morrigan shifted her stance. Alistair looked up. "But I'm _not_ a Templar. Not any more."

"Then you are weak," the qunari rumbled. "I will do what has to be done, if no one else will."

Alistair moved to stand between him and Wynne, and found himself nearly trod upon by Shale. "I do not understand," the golem said. "You wish to kill the Old Mage because she has a spirit within?" Shale looked around in consternation. "Does not everyone have one? How does one move and speak, without a spirit?"

"Shale has a point," Leliana said. "We are all spirits, no? We are all creations of the Maker."

"There is no Maker," Sten insisted. "That is only your belief."

Morrigan said, "Not everyone follows the creed of the Chantry, it is true. Yet even the Qun does not deny the existence of spirits." She looked between the qunari and Alistair. "There are more things about magic and spirits than any mundane faction will ever understand."

"Sten," Bannon said, "we're not executing Wynne. That's the end of this discussion."

Now the giant turned on him. Bannon stood his ground, craning his neck up at that scowl-creased face and horn-bearing head. "Why do you keep these beasts, untamed and unleashed? They are a danger to us all."

"Because every so often they save all our lives!" He cut off the witch before she could volunteer an answer. "And what have you done for our company lately? You complain more than Morrigan, and you refuse to do nearly every task asked of you."

"The Qun says-"

"The Qun s-!" Bannon bit his tongue. "The Qun says you are a warrior. Your job is to fight enemies. Your job is to stay alive to fight our enemies, and that means eating and sleeping, so you can also help out around camp, with the cooking and cleaning up.

"The Qun _also_ says, I am the leader. I'm the smartest; I'm the one with the plan. I'm the one who figures out where we're going and how we are going to get there. And you are the warrior who obeys orders. Do you understand me?"

Sten growled.

Bannon didn't break eye contact, but he felt the others stirring around him. No one was going to back the qunari against Wynne. "If you - or your Qun - don't like it, then go back to Ostagar, find the trail of the darkspawn, go follow them, and go get killed fighting them on your own. If you think that makes you a warrior, fine. You don't need us? Well, we're done carrying you."

Sten's muscles bunched, making his armor creak. Then his gaze shifted to Alistair. "The noble warrior promised we would search for my Asala. I will stay."

Bannon looked over at Alistair.

"For the record, as a warrior, I make a terrible cook."

"All right." Disaster was averted, for now at least. "Right now, we are hunting down a big-ass wolf, in order to secure more allies to help us in the war against the Blight. A war I intend to win. I don't think there's anything of value left here, so if we're all rested enough? Let's move out."

"At your command, _mi patrone_ most masterful," Zevran agreed eagerly with a leer.

===_X_===

* * *

_End Notes:_

_"Is a tree! It doesn't have any vulnerable spots!"_

-1000 Bloodsong points if you remember Rocky from _Galaxy Quest!_ ;D


	16. The Werewolves

**The Werewolves**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: not much  
Nudity: no  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I am proud to get this finished on time!

_Recap:_

The Grey Wardens and company head further into the Brecilian forest, in search of Witherfang.

* * *

**The Werewolves**

===#===

"You know, this reminds me of when I was a kid," Alistair mused. "I never had much money, but there were the penny press books. Actually, they were rather terrible." He shrugged sheepishly. "But- you know. When you're a kid, what do you know, right?"

Bannon shrugged but didn't offer a comment on that. "What stories?"

"Oh, you know... They were all pretty much the same. A bunch of strangers meet up at a tavern, and they end up going on an adventure together, after some treasure." He waved his hand dismissively. "Always with some crazy name, like 'The Jewel of Justice,' or 'The Gem of Generosity,' or 'The Sceptre of Sociability.' Some fancy, magical treasure. Anyway, they head out on the trail of this fabulous legendary treasure, and at each step of the way, they get attacked by monsters, or the village they need to go to is under siege, or the person they need to talk to has been kidnapped by werewolves or something. And they end up having to deal with all these other things.

"Wait...," said Bannon, a thoughtful look creasing his brow. "You mean like every time we take these treaties to someone, they can't help us because they have this life-threatening problem of their own?"

"Um," said Alistair, his own brow furrowing.

"And despite these people having weeks, or months, to solve their own problems, they just _can't_. We have to solve them all for them!"

Alistair looked up, his eyes slowly widening. "Yeah! Yes, that's exactly like it! Wow, I never knew those stories were so based on reality."

Bannon palmed his face. "Well," he ventured, "where are the people who are desperate for _our_ help, who we can get to solve all _our_ problems?"

"That'd be the trick, I guess." Alistair gnawed at his lip in thought. "Maybe they're meeting up in a tavern right now?"

"We should stop at more taverns, then."

===#===

They weren't going to find any taverns out in this wilderness. They were just following a meandering path that led aimlessly all over the place. Bannon really hoped Morrigan at least knew the way back to the Dalish camp. If he had to lead them... he'd have to find the bone yard, the dead bear carcass, the burned trees. He shook his head.

Suddenly, there was a growl to the group's left, up upon a slight rise overhanging the path. "Halt, outsiders!"

They all turned, unsheathing weapons. Up on the ridge was a tall, skinny wolf creature with shaggy grey fur. It stood up on its hind legs. It had hands, of a sort, thickly-padded, and tipped with black claws.

"It talks!" Alistair yelped.

Bannon blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected the monsters to say anything. But if they could talk, they could be reasoned with! All he had to do was figure out what they wanted.

More werewolves joined the first, melting out of the underbrush with uncanny stealth. Their yellow eyes gleamed. The first one worked its jaw and long black lips to speak. "What are you doing here in our forest?"

"They are elves," another growled roughly. "We kill!"

"No!" The leader snapped his jaws. "These are... different." He raised his snout to sniff at the air.

"We are Grey Wardens," Bannon told the monster, speaking slowly and clearly. "Everyone - every creature living in the land is in great danger from the Blight."

"I am SwiftRunner. There is no danger, here."

Leliana said, "Darkspawn are invading from the South."

"The Grey Wardens fight the darkspawn," Bannon reiterated. "We help everyone."

"Do you help CurseBinder? Did he send you here?" The werewolves snarled. There seemed to be more of them than just a moment ago.

Wynne said, "Why do you attack the elves? Certainly you are beasts that can reason."

The werewolves howled and tore up the ground with their claws. The Grey Wardens and their companions tightened ranks. SwiftRunner barked and snapped, driving the ranks of his companions back. He turned back and straightened once more. "We are not beasts! We are humans."

Bannon glanced over and met Zevran's look. Yeah, shems were really hairy!

Wynne frowned. "Then why do you not speak to elves instead of just attacking them?"

"No!" SwiftRunner snarled. "The Lady sent us to seek out the leader of the elves, to speak. To ask him to remove his curse. He would not!"

"His curse?" asked Alistair.

"If we curse his people, then he must lift it!"

Bannon said, "Wait, Zathrian - this CurseBinder? - cursed _you?_"

"The CurseBinder created WitherFang."

"Well, then he used Blood Magic to summon this demon," Alistair said. "Great."

"Okay, let's remain calm," Bannon said. "Zathrian says, to end the curse, we need to kill this WitherFang."

"No!" the werewolves growled. Even SwiftRunner snarled in bestial anger.

"Hey, that's what he said! With WitherFang's heart, he can cure the... people affected by the curse."

"We will _not_ surrender WitherFang!" SwiftRunner shouted. "Tell CurseBinder to meet us at the ancient ruins, if he wants to save his people!" With that, he threw back his head and howled. The other werewolves joined in, then they turned as one and loped back into the forest on all fours.

"Well don't let them get away," Bannon yelled. He sheathed his sword to clamber up the overhang.

===#===

Bannon had to give up when his foot struck a hidden root and he almost twisted his ankle. He stood, panting, waiting for the others to catch up. He scanned the area, but it all looked like a jumble of trees and bushes, the same jumble of trees an bushes he saw everywhere in this damned forest.

Zevran stopped nearby, his chest also heaving. Then Morrigan ran up between them.

"Morrigan," Bannon said, "can you transform and scout ahead?"

"You're not suggesting...?" She cocked her head sky ward, then jerked a thumb towards the excessively loud stomping of the stone golem.

"No, but... a wolf? You could track them."

She considered. Then shook her head. "I do not feel comfortable being a lone wolf in strange territory."

Zevran said, "The werewolves would not attack you, _si?_"

"There is no guarantee they feel any kinship with any animal."

"A fox?" Bannon suggested.

"'Twould be small and vulnerable to larger predators that, as we know, are rife in this area."

The other companions slowed to a halt in the surrounding area. They gathered closer, catching their breath. Morrigan finally made up her mind.

"Stand back," She advised the elves, before transforming into a hulking brown bear. Her broad snout tested the air, then with a demanding _whuff_, she headed off through the trees.

Before following, Bannon glanced back over his troops. "Wynne, are you all right?"

She was still huffing for breath and holding a hand to her chest. She nodded, but he went over to her, not liking the paleness of her cheeks.

Meanwhile, Sten, apparently taking Bannon's criticism of his usefulness as a warrior to heart, trooped after Morrigan.

"Alistair, Zevran," the Denerim elf said, "you guys go on ahead. You too, Shale, if you want." Leliana came over with a waterskin for Wynne.

"You don't have to fuss," the old woman insisted. "I just need a few moments... minutes."

The golem did not obey Bannon's suggested orders (what was new?), but moved closer. "Does the Old Grey Mage need to be carried?"

Warning bells went off in Bannon's head - and he wasn't the only one.

"No, Shale," Wynne said quickly. "I just need to catch my breath."

Bannon said, "If anyone needs to carry her, it will be one of us." He suddenly regretted that Sten and Alistair weren't here.

"I do not need to be carried!" Wynne said, a bit of colour returning to her cheeks. "I do have some dignity."

Bannon shrugged. With his Grey Warden strength, he could probably actually manage it... but it would be awkward for all concerned.

"I can carry the Old Grey Mage."

Bannon, Leliana, and Wynne looked at the golem. Wynne said, "Shale, are you offering to...?"

"Is being carried around undignified?"

"Uhhh," Bannon started. "What she meant was-"

Wynne stated flatly, "Unless one is a child or a pet, yes. It's rather undignified."

"Do you mean, all those years, all those times old Wilhelm demanded I carry him, it made him look undignified?"

"Yeah," Bannon hedged. "That probably did look silly. For him," he quickly added.

Thick stone brows lowered in a deep scowl. Then the golem opened its mouth and a strange sound came out. "Heh heh heh."

Bannon, Leliana, and Wynne shared some uneasy glances. The bard ventured, "Shale... are you laughing?"

"Am I?" Now those brows shot up, widening the moonglow eyes. "I think... Laughing." Shale looked off into the distance, pondering this. "I... think so. To think of that old, bossy, squishy mage ordering me around to do everything, to _carry_ him...! Like... like a child. Or a pet! Heh heh heh!" A look came over Shale's features, like that of a child's crude clay imitation of a happy face. "Yes! That is funny! Ha haha!" His laugh sounded more natural, for a gravelly stone voice.

Great, a golem with a sense of humor.

Motion caught at the edge of Bannon's eyes, and he turned to see Zevran trotting back. The assassin stopped and gave a worried look at the laughing golem. "Is... everything all right?"

"Yeah, we were just about to follow," Bannon said, glad for an excuse to move away from the stone squishing machine.

"We found a trail. Well, a road, it seems."

Great! A road in the middle of the forest. That would be useful.

Wynne turned to the golem. "I do thank you, Shale, for your kind offer."

"I did not mean to make fun of the Old Grey Mage," Shale replied solemnly. "It... healed me when I was hurt."

"Perhaps," Leliana said cannily, "Wynne is not like the Old Mage Wilhelm."

"Yes," he agreed. "Wynne is not at all like the Old Bossy Mage. It is... dignified."

Wynne quirked a brow. "Don't you mean 'she'?"

Bannon nearly bit his tongue at the mage's audacity. _Gah, don't push it, Wynne!_

The golem only chuckled. "Perhaps."

===#===

Bannon and the rest followed Zevran down a slippery, rain-damp slope and came out in a broad clearing. Watery afternoon light filtered through the fringe of trees, waxing and waning at the whim of the clouds. Steam tendrils rose from the ground.

The clearing stretched in either direction, disappearing around hilly clumps of vegetation. Zevran turned left, and they made good time along the flat, open... well, road. After a couple minutes, they came upon Alistair, who had a concerned and wary look on his face as he stood off from Sten and Morrigan.

Morrigan had returned to human form, the better to use her mouth, and she was letting Sten have it. "Perhaps 'twould do you good to spend some time contemplating existence as a toad. A _horned_ toad."

Sten growled something probably unflattering in his own language.

"All right, that's enough; we're here," Bannon interrupted. "Sten, stop annoying Morrigan."

That earned him an inarticulate growl from the giant and a smug smirk from the witch. Sometimes, Bannon felt as if he were running the alienage school. "Where did the werewolves go?"

"There's a place," Alistair said, moving up beside Bannon. "Up the road."

"A place? The werewolf den?"

"Maybe?"

"'Tis guarded by magic."

"Wait, werewolves have magic?" How could things possibly get any worse? Huge, strong, hairy brutes, who were also fast _and_ they had magic. Dammit, did they need the Dalish warriors that badly? Considering that the human soldiers were killing each other in their stupid civil war - yeah. Damn.

"'Tis some form of natural magic," Morrigan explained. "It may simply be another anomaly caused by the thinning of the Veil."

She led them along the road and around a bend. The ground rose steeply on either side, effectively creating a wall with a distinct gateway. The mist on the ground rose up and hung like a smoky curtain, partly obscuring whatever lay beyond. Some type of grey edifice?

"The werewolves went in here?" Bannon asked, moving forward, keeping an eye out for guards.

"Yes."

The elf approached the mist, then stopped. It didn't look like a barrier, but it felt... off. As if he didn't really want to go in there. "Hello?" he called. "We don't want to fight. Let's talk some more." He glanced around to make sure no one in his party was doing anything hostile. From the mist, there was only silence. "If you want to see Zathrian, maybe we can take you to him?"

"Is that a good idea," Alistair hissed.

Out of the side of his mouth, Bannon said, "I didn't promise them anything. Besides, if one werewolf comes peacefully, how much of a threat would they be?"

Leliana said, "And what about the elves being a threat to him?"

Bannon shrugged. Was that really a problem? It was the werewolves that were the problem, and they needed to be eliminated. He turned back to the mist, his mouth open to call again, but he froze, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

Inside the mist, something formed, something white. It looked like a bear, but as it moved forward, it became the distinct shape of a wolf's head. Bannon couldn't even see the rest of it, and he didn't want to! The eyes glowed red, cutting through the mist. It's massive jaw dropped open, revealing sharp, jagged teeth.

_BRING ZATHRIAN!_

A chorus of bestial howls and baying rose from beyond the barrier, then the great wolf's low voice joined it, making Bannon's very ribs vibrate from the onslaught of noise. The elf backpedaled quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet until Alistair and Zevran caught his arms.

"Bring Zathrian! Hey, got it!" Bannon shivered. "No problem! Right away!"

A growl rumbled over the valley as the white wolf vanished back into the mist.

===_X_===


	17. A New Plan

**A New Plan**

_CONTENT:_

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Adventure/Drama

Language: maybe

Violence: not much

Nudity: no

Sex: none

Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I think I neglected to give a shout-out to the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age, for initial help trying to figure out this whole werewolf plot. And yet, most of my head-scratching moments appear in this chapter, anyway. ;D Thanks CMDA!

_Retcon:_

Important changes and additions in this chapter: Humans vs Elves, Morrigan has a conversation with Bannon, Bannon and Zevran have some interaction.

_Recap:_

After being attacked by wild animals, trees, and a cozy little camp... the Wardens Troupe ran into some werewolves who insisted Zathrian cursed them and they want to see him. They refused to give up Witherfang and ran into an area protected by a magical mist barrier.

* * *

**A New Plan**

Tired, footsore, damp and muddy, not to mention starving, the Grey Wardens made their way back to the Dalish camp. Where they were intercepted by two of the young sentries. "Who goes there?"

Bannon worked his jaw. "We came from your camp just this morning," he growled. "We're the only group around with humans, a horned giant, and a stone golem. Who do you _think_ we are?"

Leliana stepped up beside him, perhaps a little ahead of him, to calm the quailing archers. "We are the Grey Wardens," she said in a strong but gentle tone. "Please, we must speak with Zathrian urgently."

"And is it too much to ask for some hot food?" Bannon griped.

===#===

The sentries led them to the elven leader's aravel circle. Zathrian sat by his fire, with his First, and the Chief Hunter. "I see you were unsuccessful," were the words that came out of the hahren's mouth as soon as the Wardens came over.

"What was your first clue?" Bannon snarked. The Dalish frowned. Fine, let the others talk.

Wynne seemed to want to say something, but Leliana placed a hand on her arm, and the two women shared a look. Wynne nodded, and the bard stepped forward.

"Keeper Zathrian, we met a group of werewolves," she started.

"Did you slay them?" Dakorien asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"No, we spoke to them," Leliana answered him, then turned her attention back to Zathrian. "They told us they had sought to parley with your people, but you refused?"

He said, "When we first arrived here, the werewolves attacked our aravels and killed some of our halla."

"They demanded we turn our hahren over to them," Dakorien added. "We fought them off." His look darkened. "That night, they came."

"They are misbegotten savage beasts," the hahren said.

Keeping her voice gentle, Leliana said, "They also claim they are human, and that it is you who cursed them, not Witherfang."

"They claim a lot of things," Zathrian scoffed. "Did you see no sign of the demon wolf? Or do you question my veracity in that as well?"

"Oh no, we saw it," Bannon said with a shudder.

"But you could not kill it," Dakorien interpreted, his smug superiority back firmly in place.

"Look, there's some kind of magic mist barrier protecting the werewolves' lair."

Zathrian narrowed his eyes. "Then you know where it is."

"Yeah."

"Good. Then we can attack and eliminate them."

"But we do not know their number," Dakorien said.

"And what about the barrier?" Bannon wanted to know.

"Very well." The hahren nodded. "Take a scouting party with the Grey Wardens tomorrow and return with a plan of attack."

That seemed to be enough for the Chief Hunter, but it certainly didn't mollify the Grey Wardens. Leliana refused to be dismissed. "Forgive me, Keeper Zathrian, but why do you not speak with the werewolves? It is clear they are intelligent enough to do so, and even wish to."

"There is nothing I wish to hear from them," the old elf snapped.

Wynne narrowed her eyes cannily. "Then it's true - you cursed them. But why?"

Now the Chief Hunter and Lanaya, the First, stopped and looked at their leader. Zathrian glared at the old mage. "Yes," he admitted finally. "I cursed the humans who slaughtered my children."

Silence settled around the fire. Leliana paled slightly. Then she asked, "Your children? What happened?"

Zathrian stared into the pale flames, his lips drawn into a thin line. His voice, when he spoke, was subdued; it shook. "The shemlen bastards defiled my daughter, and killed her younger brother when he tried to defend her. And then... Danae... She did not survive. She found herself with child... she killed herself."

"I'm so sorry," Leliana whispered.

The Keeper stood. "So you see, my vengeance is justified, and I shall not relent of it. If the werewolves think they can force us to bow to their will, we will prove them wrong." His eyes glittered as he looked over them all. "You will gather a scouting party," he reiterated. "You will lead them to this hidden lair."

"Yes, hahren," Dakorien said.

"Yes," Bannon agreed.

===#===

After dinner, Wynne went with Lanaya, the clan's First, on her rounds with the healers. They tended to the stricken with little hope in their eyes. Wynne tried her brand of magic, but met with little success. She frowned and wondered to herself if her Guardian Spirit could cleanse this curse from them. Yet she dared not try it. If she revealed her secret and failed, the consequences would be dire. Even if it worked, if she killed herself in the endeavor, she would not be able to fulfill her pledge to the Wardens.

Later, she sought out Leliana, on her way back to the Wardens' cluster after visiting with some of the more open-minded elves. "Leliana..." She fell in with the younger woman, lowering her voice. "I've been talking with Lanaya. She's not the, well, the first First Zathrian has had. It seems he is over 100 years old."

"Yes!" The bard turned to her with sparkling eyes. "I have heard the same from Sarel. The elves believe his longevity is a sign that the Dalish are regaining their ancient heritage."

"Really?"

"Legends of Arlathan speak of elves for living centuries, that their lifespan lasted for ages, until they were tainted by association with humans."

"So it's possible this is true? Zathrian has lived so long because of the purity of his heritage?"

The bard tipped her head. "You think it more likely he has extended his age with the aid of magic? Like Avernus, yes?"

Wynne frowned at the thought of that unwholesome man. "I don't think our elven allies would want to hear that."

Leliana tapped her chin with one forefinger. "I don't know," she mused. "Bannon and Zevran are city elves, and they don't seem to think too highly of their Dalish brethren."

"In any case, Lanaya said Zathrian hasn't had a wife since she's known him, nor children. She's never heard of this curse, either - at least not attributed to him. So it's possible it's been in place for over twenty years."

"Sarel had not heard of it, and he's been in this clan since childhood."

"We need to discuss this with the others," Wynne said.

===#===

"So... what you're trying to say is..." Alistair pursed his lips thinking it through. "These people have been werewolves for over twenty years?"

"Perhaps fifty or more," Leliana affirmed.

"That doesn't make sense." The Templar looked to his other companions, to see if they agreed. "He cursed them with werewolf-ness, _and_ longevity?"

From her perch on one of the aravel's steps, Morrigan said, "Perhaps they simply carried on breeding, and these are the offspring of the original werewolves."

"Euw!"

Bannon shook his head. "That doesn't make sense, either. If they were werewolves all their lives, why would they want to change into humans?"

"Why would they want to be stupid, mangy, smelly poachers?" Alistair asked.

"Exactly."

Alistair gave the elf a completely confused look. Leliana sighed. "Bannon!" she scolded.

"Come on, I was joking."

Zevran said, "No, he has a valid point. If all you knew your whole life was hunting and killing, running wild, how would you even dream of something different? You would have no experience to base it on."

Wynne said, "Perhaps their parents told them stories of the old ways?"

To which Leliana added, "These could have passed on into legend. Like a type of heavenly sanctuary. Some ideal to strive for."

"Well, whether it's grey-beard werewolves or... puppies," Alistair said, with a disturbed look, "The fact remains that Zathrian cursed them. And that means Blood Magic. So does his unnaturally long life." He poked at the fire.

"That's not unnatural for elves," Bannon insisted. "We're _supposed_ to live that long."

Morrigan looked down on him with her golden eyes. "You truly believe that?"

He frowned and grabbed the stick from Alistair, taking his own turn and prodding the fire.

Leliana said, "The _point_ is, these people have suffered under this curse for decades. They wish to be free of it."

"He had a damned good reason to curse them. Did you forget that part?"

"I did not forget. But for several decades? For generations, as far as we know. Hasn't there been enough vengeance? Would you want to still punish someone after so long?" Her sea-grey eyes sought Bannon out.

He turned his thoughts inward, thinking of Vaughn. What he'd done to Shianni, to Nesiara and the others, all the elves, all those years. "Yeah," he answered. "I kinda would."

Leliana huffed in disappointment.

Wynne said, "I think we need to discuss this with Zathrian again, and their council of elders if need be. There's no reason to fight, to slaughter these unfortunate creatures. They're willing to negotiate. This could be settled peacefully, without more loss of life."

Then Sten, from his post near the entrance to their cluster, said, "Your plan is entirely stupid."

"You want to talk instead of fight?" Bannon asked him incredulously.

"The elves are clearly weak. We should instead gain these werewolves as our allies."

"They would be quite formidable against the darkspawn," the witch, advocate of contrariness, added.

"Oh, so, what? We'll just help them slaughter the elves, here?" Bannon glared around at his companions. "Not happening."

Wynne said, "No one need die, if they would just _talk._"

"The werewolves are not interested in talking." Bannon chucked the used stick into the fire.

"Actually," Leliana said, "It seems the Dalish are the ones who are not interested in talking." Beside her, Wynne nodded.

When Bannon looked to the Templar, Alistair pursed his lips, raised his brows, and tipped his head towards the women in agreement. Well, the shems were sticking together. "You're not looking at the bigger picture."

"Oh, what picture is that? The one where this is a large, human kingdom and the Dalish are outlaws in it?"

"You always do that!" Alistair said mulishly. "It's always elves versus humans with you. You act like all humans are bloody shems out to do every bad thing possible to elves."

"Gee, I don't know where I got _that_ idea from. -Wait. Oh yeah, just all of history!"

"You know that's an exaggeration."

Zevran said, "Even living anywhere near shems has shortened the long elven lifespan."

"You don't know that," the Templar argued. "That might just be a legend."

"Yes, a legend," said Bannon. "Just an old tale. Like everything else the Dalish have, instead of their cities and culture."

"Everything that was destroyed by shems," Zevran added.

Alistair heaved a sigh, and threw up his arms. "All right. So maybe - probably! - my ancestors took part in the Exalted March against the Dales. That was hundreds of years ago! That has nothing to do with me."

"And things have gotten better how?"

"Didn't you tell me that I'm not responsible for things my parents did? How am I responsible for what my great-great-great-whatever forebears did? How is any human?"

Zevran said, "You are entirely responsible for yourself, and your own actions. As is any person."

Bannon glanced at him, briefly swayed from his argument. Then he turned back to Alistair. "And these humans have done wrong. But you want to take their side? And you're accusing me of prejudice?"

"No, I'm not taking sides. I'm just saying, yes, they did wrong. Now Zathrian is doing wrong to them. Two wrongs don't make anything right - you can see that!" the Templar insisted.

"The Dalish would be more than happy to see you leave, if you don't want to help us." Bannon looked around at the rest of them. "Any of you humans."

Alistair looked away, but not Wynne. "Bannon, don't you think this is a rash decision? Please reconsider."

"Sten, what do you think? And not about who is weakest or the best ally."

The horned giant exhaled a long slow breath. Then he said, "Those who break the law are aberrant to the Qun, and must be purged. A swift execution would be more efficient than this prolonged torment."

"Right. So we kill the werewolves and all our problems are solved. Criminals: executed. Curse: ended. Elves: not being slaughtered. Treaty: honored. You have a problem with that?" He looked around at them all once more.

Leliana said, "Only a few of these humans have committed this so-called crime, not all of them. You cannot condemn them all."

To which Zevran replied, "They're committing 'murder' now. Do you not agree, Wynne?" He cocked a brow at the old mage.

She pinched her lips and looked away.

"Fine. Alistair, Wynne, Leliana, you can leave. We'll catch up with you back at Redcliffe. Morrigan?" Bannon looked over at the witch.

"I would like a private word with you, if I may."

"All right."

"Walk with me..."

===#===

They left the circle of their guest aravels and walked a little way. Then Morrigan stepped off the path between two trees. Bannon followed, trying not to get his feet tangled up in the leaves and bushes. Luckily, she did not go far.

"Do you not sense something odd in this forest?" the witch asked, her eyes almost luminous in the gathering dusk.

"You mean, besides werewolves?" Bannon shrugged. "What, like trees attacking us?"

"That's exactly what I mean." Her yellow eyes regarded him a moment, then returned to something distant in the forest. "There are spirits here, in this wood. Restless spirits. Something is amiss. The veil between the waking world and the Fade is... not torn, but somehow warped."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. And I don't know what is causing it, but my instincts tell me to look to the point of strongest magic."

Bannon thought a moment. "Zathrian? Not you, too. You're going to agree with Alistair?"

She turned towards him. "Tell me something. Would your stance be the same if it had been Dalish elves raiding a human village? And a human mage that had cast this curse on them? Or would your thinking be reversed - that this inflicted punishment has gone on long enough, that it must be ended?"

He saw that trap a mile away, and sidestepped. "Compassion, Morrigan? Or are you on the werewolves' side because they are shape-changers like you?"

"No. And they are nothing like me. I choose what form to take and do so whenever I wish. Yes, the curse should be ended, and either way - be it lifted, or the victims slaughtered - it matters little to me."

"You tell me I'm siding with the elves because I'm an elf... and it doesn't seem odd to you that all the humans are siding with the humans?"

She shrugged one slender shoulder. "We all have our biases, it is true. Perhaps, then, think on this: what if it had been another Dalish clan that had committed a crime against this one? And those beasts were elves as well?"

"Two clans in conflict..." He knit his brows. He hadn't thought of that twist, only of elves vs humans and humans vs elves. But two groups of elves? That leveled the field considerably. "I would say, they need to end this. Compromise, put it behind them. Yeah. Damn." The shems were right. He could see that now.

"Whatever your final decision, I think it would be wise to discuss this matter in more depth with Zathrian. Clearly there is more going on than meets the eye."

"You're right. Thanks, Morrigan."

===#===

Bannon couldn't get an audience with Zathrian. Old guy apparently needed a lot of beauty sleep. He went to find the First, who was the second in command. Dalish titles, go figure.

He as directed to her fire and was surprised to see Dakorien there. Also surprised that he called her 'mother.' Well, small town - er, camp. "First Lanaya. Chief Hunter Dakorien," he said respectfully, hoping to avoid another snark battle.

"My title is akhellan," the Hunter said snippily.

"Akhellan," Bannon acknowledge smoothly. "I was wondering if we could discuss Keeper Zathrian's strategy."

"If you are afraid to fight, you needn't worry. The Dalish will handle their own enemies."

"We can fight," Bannon growled. Why did this guy try to turn everything into a pissing contest? "Isn't it smarter to talk first? Avoid any bloodshed - one either side?"

"From a position of weakness, perhaps."

Bannon was too tired to get riled up. He thought back to the Alienage, where fast talk was his best line of defense. One couldn't just attack shems. Not the nobles. Not the guards. Elvers were weak in the Alienage. The Dalish, on the other hand, were warriors. Shem killers.

To Lanaya he said, "Keeper Zathrian told us he placed this curse on the werewolves. Couldn't just lifting the curse save your people?"

She gazed introspectively into the fire. "It seems so."

Dakorien said, "We will not be forced into any action by these brutes."

"Zathrian did say the key to the curse lies in Witherfang," Lanaya added.

"So the plan remains the same. We will scout this lair tomorrow, perhaps slay this creature. As the hahren decreed."

Bannon nodded. Isn't that what he'd said earlier? Criminals punished, elves freed, treaty honored. They weren't going to go for simple negotiation between Zathrian and SilverSnout or whoever was in charge of the werewolves. Not without being worn down some more. Perhaps they would find the same thing the Grey Wardens had.

===#===

He returned to the Wardens' fire. Wynne had gone to bed early; Morrigan had vanished somewhere - up a tree, probably. Bannon tried not to scan the overhead branches. Not too obviously, anyway.

Sten stomped a very short patrol around their little cul de sac, more or less just pacing. Shale stood as a marker on the corner of the path, glowing eyes following the giant's progress. Alistair and Leliana played a hand of cards with Bodhan, while Zevran sharpened his daggers nearby. Bannon sat heavily beside him.

"Where've you been?" Alistair asked with mild curiosity.

"Did you have a nice liaison with the witch?" Zevran added with a leer.

"No!"

"Pity."

"I talked to the First and Akhellen. They're going to back Zathrian's plan and follow orders."

"That was your plan as well, was it not?" Leliana asked.

"Yeah... okay, but I think negotiation is smarter." Leliana's eyes gleamed brightly in the firelight as she fixed him with a look. He turned away. "For now, the plan is to stick to the plan. We'll see if the Dalish can be convinced. Zev, you got any more of that Antivan Brandy?"

"Of course, _amore'_. It is inside."

Bannon got up and followed Zevran into the aravel they shared with Alistair and Sten. Although Zevran had insisted on sleeping by the door, practicality had shoved the elves into the front of the grandiose wagon, wedged in beside the cabinets.

They settled on the mat, and Zevran produced a cup half full of the strong brandy. Bannon hoped it knocked him out enough to sleep.

Zevran eased behind him and started unbuckling his cuirass. "What you need, my good friend, is a relaxing Antivan massage."

Bannon jerked away, nearly spilling the liquor. "Not here," he snapped.

Zevran only chuckled irritatingly. "I meant only to rub your shoulders, _mi patrone_. You carry far too much upon them." His hands darted to the straps with the swiftness the thief had taught him. Bannon had to give up trying to slap his hands away. Then those long, strong fingers dug into the muscles of his neck and shoulders, and Bannon couldn't help but to relax into that warm, damnable touch.

"Ah, you see? Much too tense."

Bannon sipped the brandy. When he finished it, the assassin would be done, too.

Zevran, of course, moved closer ,added the tantalizing brush of lips against neck. For a moment, Bannon let the thrill run down his spine, the heat rise up through his core. Briefly, he imagined Zevran's hands on the bare skin of his torso, those talented lips as well.

Then he shoved the assassin away and shot back the last of the brandy. "I told you, not here. We don't need everyone knowing our business."

Zevran huffed in annoyance. "I think everyone already knows."

Bannon's face flushed hot. "Well, the whole world doesn't need to know."

"You mean the Dalish? Why do you care what they think?"

"I-" _I have a reputation. I have to represent the Grey Wardens, the city elves._ "I'm not like you." He shoved the empty cup at Zevran, then turned to make up his bedroll, purposefully setting his armor and gear between his space and Zevran's, like a wall. "Why do you like men, anyway?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Zevran scoffed, tossing the cup into Alistair's bedroll. "There's much to enjoy about being with a man. Surely you agree?"

Bannon blamed the brandy for the heat in his cheeks. "But... how would you even think of that?"

Zevran leaned against the cupboard wall. "Well, growing up in a whorehouse, one learns many things. All the whores, women _and_ men, know that if you want the most clients, you have to cater to the widest variety. It wouldn't be profitable to be exclusive. Also, in the Crows, you don't get to select the sex of your next target. We are trained to be open to many types of seduction."

Bannon twisted his lips in thought. It didn't seem that Zevran had any choice in the matter. Did he like it, or just learn to like it? Or did he decide in his mind to say that he liked it, because he was forced to do it, and being forced to do something you hated was so much worse? He shifted uncomfortably.

"There is another advantage to entertaining men, as well."

"What's that?"

"They have a faster turnover rate than women." Zevran winked lasciviously. "You can make more money in one night."

"So this is all just normal in Antiva?"

"Certainly more normal than here. Really, Fereldans are so backward."

Bannon lay back, crossing his arms behind his head. "Yeah, so backward, we don't have slavery."

Zevran snorted. "If you're going to be insufferable, I'll go see who else needs a massage."

"You do that."

===_X_===


	18. Sins of the Past

**Sins of the Past**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: some  
Nudity: no  
Sex: referenced (sexual assault)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

I was trying to figure out Zathrian's motivation, and how this whole Witherfang/Lady of the Forest thing worked, and what was going on with the werewolves... and, um, this happened!

I suppose this can stand on its own as a Zathrian origin story. Um, yeah, I'm using it to not (much) miss my publishing deadline, cuz the next chapter isn't done. :X I mean... for your enjoyment!

* * *

**Sins of the Past**

==#==

"My son lies dead," Zathrian roared at the Keeper of Clan Teirhylle. "My daughter clings to life after being brutalized by those shemlen!"

Lorenon raised one hand. "Calmness, Zathrian. Teirhylle has traded many years with the humans of Tarringate. I will speak to them."

"Speaking? What will this do?"

"Calm thyself. It will do no good to fly into a rage like the Dread Wolf."

Zathrian wished he had the power to summon the Dread Wolf to strike down the shemlen, but he did not. Nor did Lorenon allow him to accompany the delegates to the town. His emotions were too high. Cooler heads would prevail.

Zathrian looked upon his daughter, Danae, who seemed so much smaller than her sixteen years, as she lay so still in the aravel's bed. Kaiyalla, one of the clan's herbalists and healers, had tended to Danae. Now, Alassanna gently caressed her pale face with a damp cloth.

"Has she woken yet?"

"No, love." His wife paused to look up at him. "Rest will help to heal her."

Rest, however, was not healing Zathrian's rage.

Lorenon returned from the parley with only a pledge from the shemlen lord that they would seek out the perpetrators of the crime.

Zathrian seethed. Could the clan do nothing? Lorenon did not wish to upset the humans. What about the crimes committed against the family of the First? Hadn't he a right to justice?

"Patience," Lorenon counseled.

The clan waited for weeks, with no word from the town. When messengers were sent to inquire, the only reply was that the shemlen had not found the criminals yet.

Zathrian would be patient no more. He demanded an audience with the human Bann.

Bann Levinton was a ruddy human, running to fat as he aged and his sons grew up strong and healthy, readying to take the mantle. "You are... the aggrieved?" the human noble asked him.

"I am," Zathrian bit out. He would have liked to throw the specifics of the crimes into this shemlen's face, to scream out the atrocities suffered by his family, but shame held him back. He stood with but two Hunters as escort, and the hall was full of shemlen.

"We are," Bann Levinton said in his halting manner, "Saddened by your loss. But it will take time to investigate. Time... to find the perpetrators. We cannot rush... and accuse the wrong persons."

Zathrian left the town, forcing his head to remain high, like the proud Dalish he was. As he looked back at the tall gables of the Bann's estate, he once more wished to see the Dread Wolf tear it down.

==#==

The cuts and bruises over his daughter's face and body had been healed and faded. Still, she barely moved from her bed. Barely paid attention to her needlework.

Lorenon spoke of moving the clan to their autumn camp. They had stayed longer than usual here.

"But our family has not been avenged," Zathrian protested.

Alassanna put a hand on his arm. "it may be better for Danae if we put this place behind us."

He gaped at her. "Is this how your clan deals with an open attack upon its members?"

"The Keeper advises prudence."

"The Hunters of my clan would never let this go unpunished, he said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Some of the young Hunters heard him. Some of the young Hunters agreed with him.

They struck out on a raid, on the farmhouse nearest to the site of the attack. They captured a family, husband and wife, and three children, one grown. They were bound, hooded, and taken to a nearby cave.

Zathrian glowered down on the shemlen, lit by the stark green glow of his light wisp. They cowered.

"What do you want with us?" The man found his tongue.

"An elven boy was murdered, a young woman attacked by humans." He could no longer bring himself to use the Dalish word. It was too elegant for the likes of these vile creatures.

"We had nothing to do with that!"

The woman begged, "Please, we've done nothing to you, we only ever traded fair. Don't hurt my children!"

"And what of my children?" Zathrian snarled. "Did you humans spare them? No!" He paced before them, his wisp floating slowly as he moved, making the shadows sway. "What about my justice? My daughter likes broken while the villains to free. And you do nothing!"

"We've never done anything to you and yours," the woman sobbed.

"It was the Bann's sons," the oldest boy cut in.

"Ben!" his father gasped.

"You saw this?" Zathrian's eyes latched onto the boy's. He was a stout lad; he knelt protectively in front of the smaller children.

"Everyone knows them boys got a hunting lodge 'round yonder. They had a hunting party up there last month."

"Ben!" his father snapped to quiet him.

Ben's eyes flared at the man. "The nobles do what they want, and that's why they never get caught nor punished." His pale eyes looked up at Zathrian. "That's why no one will turn them over to you."

Cold iron seeped into Zathrian's heart. That was it, then. "They deny me justice."

"Vengeance is still open to us," Veymira said as she and the other Hunters raised their bows, arrows drawn on the trussed-up humans.

"One human family destroyed, in repayment for the destruction of mine."

"No!" the woman shrieked, and the children wailed. The man begged, citing the name of his human god.

Zathrian's rage urged him to give the order. But his daughter's bruised face haunted him. "No," he said at last, extending his arm to command the Hunters to lower their weapons. "No. Not innocents. We are not beasts like they are." He lowered his arm, his head. "Take them back to the road and release them." He left the cave.

Veymira followed. "But First. Will the Bann turn over his own blood?"

"If not, it will go badly for Tarringate."

==#==

When they returned to the camp, it was a hive of activity. Everyone, from oldest to youngest pitched in to dismantle the temporary structures. The halla tenders began to harness the white deer. Zathrian pressed through the controlled chaos to Lorenon. "What is going on?"

"I have decided it is best the clan move on from here, and put our tragedies behind us."

"B-But," Zathrian stuttered in shock and the beginnings of outrage. "We know now who the criminals are! The humans we captured told us the Bann's sons are to blame."

Lorenon looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "Captured shemlen? Did you authorize this behind my back?"

"It was decided to take matters into our own hands." Zathrian caught at the Keeper's sleeve as the elder started to turn away. "But we learned the truth! The criminals are known. They _must_ be punished!"

Lorenon shook his head. "I'm sorry..."

"You cannot ignore this!"

The Keeper put a hand over his. "The human lord will not turn against his own heirs."

"We can attack-"

"_No!_" Lorenon's hand gripped Zathrian's painfully. "We _must_ think of the good of the whole clan. That is the duty of the Keeper and the First. A war with these shemlen could spell the death of us. _Dahlen_, please, turn your back on this and move forward. Your daughter needs you. Your wife-"

A shrill scream cut through the camp, halting all activity. It came again, Alassanna's voice full of pain and denial.

Zathrian rushed to his aravel. Inside, Alassanna sat on the floor, clutching Danae to her, rocking her like a baby, wailing. Zathrian crouched beside them, his hands seeking his daughter's heartbeat. But no, he could see the fallen bottle, the black tinge upon her lips. She had taken Deathroot, and gone beyond the Veil.

"What?" Zathrian cried, his mind gone into a cold fog. "Why? _Why?_" He cupped Danae's cool cheek in his hand. "My little girl. Why?"

"The healers," Alassanna hiccoughed. "Kaiyalla... she found... they saw... she was... she was with child."

Zathrian's world froze as these words penetrated his heart. Alassanna was saying something else, but he did not hear the words. Blood rushed in his ears, then he was outside, pushing through a sea of faces, a tangle of Vallaslin.

Then he was gone, fled like the rabbit from the jaws of the wolf. He did not know whither he ran, but he eventually returned to his senses, panting, muscles burning, limbs trembling, somewhere in the forest. The gloom of dusk descended.

He stumbled along a path his feet had discovered. He was tired, but he could not rest. Those _beasts!_ Vile, filthy humans! It wasn't enough they killed Danae's little brother and brutalized her as she screamed and cried, but they had to make her suffer to carry their disgusting seed to fruit? _No!_

"Spirit of the Forest," Zathrian prayed, crying to the wind. "Grant me surcease. Grant justice for my family."

The wind grew chill and rustled the leaves around him. In the grey dusk light, he thought he saw a glimmer.

"Lady of the Forest,hear my cries. Grievous wrong has been done to me and mine."

There! It was no mere illusion, but a flicker of white through the leaves of the underbrush. THen a growl as a young wolf of pale grey fur stumbled out onto the path. It collapsed, one hind leg mangled and bleeding. It must have been caught in one of those traps the humans set out. Zathrian realized where he was - near the hunting lodge, where his children's lives had been destroyed.

Zathrian moved forward, heedless of the wolf's bared fangs. The wind circled them both. Blood could weaken the veil. Blood and his spirit's will. He reached to dip his fingers in the wolf's blood. "Do you want vengeance on those who did this to you?" he asked over the low snarl. The wolf clamped its jaws over his forearm. "Ah!" he cried out as the teeth sank into his flesh. His blood painted the wolf's flank red.

It did not let go.

"Lady of the Forest! Fen'Harel! Spirits of the wronged!" Zathrian prayed, letting the fire of pain focus his mind. Magic burned inside him. "Bring a plague of justice on the humans! Show them what beasts they truly are!"

The wolf's eyes flared. "_Do you wish vengeance?_"

"Yes!"

The beast released his arm and stood, growing before the elf mage's eyes into a formidable beast. The wounds of its leg closed, though the limb remained twisted as it healed. It's eyes glowed in the dimness. "_It shall be done._"

==_X_==


	19. Scouting

**Scouting**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: some  
Nudity: no  
Sex: Zevran fondles a stump. no, a tree stump. you know the scene i'm talking about!  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

It is long past due to continue this story. There are gaps, but... we'll have to deal with gaps. Onward! Oh, by the way... there's a continuity problem sorta coming up in this chapter, so... maybe you won't notice? :X Why do I say these things?

PS: I needed a title for the Dalish lead/head/chief/boss Hunter, so I made one up: Akhellan. Well, you can't go around calling everyone dahlen and hahren... (at least... i can't...)

_Retcon:_

Minor change before the Poet Tree encounter, reflecting Bannon's stance on the werewolves vs elves problem, as well as Alistair's understanding of it.

_Recap:_

Werewolves attacked elves, elves sent Wardens after werewolves, werewolves told Wardens Zathrian cursed them, Witherfang told Bannon to BRING ZATHRIAN. Zathrian told his story about humans raping and killing his children. Now... since the Wardens know where the werewolf den is, they should take the Dalish Hunters there to scout it out and plan their attack.

Oh yeah, don't forget Wynne used her magic spirit mojo to defeat the sleepy-bye camp demon.

* * *

**Scouting**

==#==

Alistair didn't understand elves. He'd learned about the Dalish, of course. They were nomadic barbarians, living off the wilderness. Sort of like how the Wardens had been living these past few months - camping out, hunting game - but without the promise of a good, solid, sturdy home to go home to.

The Dalish believed that humans, long ago, had done something to them. Destroyed the forests, or the elven cities? Well, something, and they hated humans for it. Of course, there had been a time, in history, where elves had been slaves. Slaves of _humans_. But that had been way back when The Tevinter Empire had covered the whole continent, _ages_ ago.

The Dalish elves kept looking at him as if _he'd_ had anything to do with all that, like he'd personally kicked their grandmother or something. Why get so worked up about something that happened before your lifetime?

And he'd thought city elves were hostile towards humans. At least they were actual descendants of the original slaves. They mostly complained about modern stuff, though. Work they had to do, or living conditions in the alienages.

Alistair understood that most humans only thought of elves as some lower class citizens. Servants and laborers. But elves could do other things. There was no _law_ that said they had to stay in the alienage. Besides, look at Bannon, he was a carpenter. That was a skilled trade.

And what was wrong with being a servant, anyway? Alistair and his mother had been servants. Oh, sure, a lot of stuck-up rich nobles had treated them like furniture, or even rugs, but... Well, okay, being a servant wasn't the grandest thing in the world, but it was a decent job, and it was by choice. Not like slavery.

Anyway, you'd think elves would get along with other elves, but noooo. Bannon and that Hunter guy, Dakorien, had gotten along like cats and dogs. Or perhaps it was dogs and wolves.

Duncan had once told him - not to be repeated aloud around elves - that city elves were like dogs. They'd been living with humans for so long, they were, well... tamed. Occasionally, they bit someone. But Dalish Elves were then like wolves, wild and dangerous creatures.

Alistair felt a pang of loss, thinking about Duncan. What would he say about their situation, now? What would he _do_ to defuse this elf versus elf conflict?

They'd started up again first thing. Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan were the only ones joining the elves for today's mission. Wynne needed to rest, and Sten and Shale... well, weren't exactly cut out for stealthy scouting missions. Dakorien looked at them, then said to Bannon and Zevran, "Do you remember the way to the werewolves' lair, or do you get lost once you go behind a tree?"

To which Bannon waspishly snarled, "Well, I would _think_ an accomplished Hunter such as yourself could simply follow our trail."

Then Dakorien said, "The path of destruction left by your stone monstrosity should be clear enough for a child to follow. At least, not a child of the city." Ouch. Dalish: one; city elves: zero.

Alistair and Leliana shared a dismayed look. Why couldn't they leave all the elves home?

==#==

They did follow the trail easily enough. The Dalish had been angered at the pile of wolves, when they came across the flyblown carcasses.

"Dear Lady, what is this?" Dakorien had exclaimed. "Did you slaughter a whole pack of wolves for no reason?"

"Hey," Bannon said, "they attacked us. Anything attacks us, we fight back."

"Why would wolves attack and armed party?" the Dalish elf replied with a scowl. "What did you do to provoke them?"

"We showed up - on a mission _your_ hahren sent us on, because _you_ couldn't do it."

Dalish elves: one. City elves: one.

==#==

And they were incensed at the burning of the trees.

"What wanton destruction is this?" Dakorien glared fiery bolts at them. "Am I supposed to believe these _trees_ attacked you as well?"

"Yeah," Bannon said. Well, that's what had happened, wasn't it?

"Trees attacked you. Were you eating mushrooms?"

Zevran muttered, "I know some deadly mushrooms I'd like to give you." Alistair didn't think he was supposed to hear that. Or perhaps Zevran meant all kinds of people to hear him.

Dakorien snorted through his arrogant nose (no, really; that nose had a serious attitude), and said, "These aren't deadly, merely mind-bending."

"We weren't eating anything," Bannon snapped impatiently.

Meanwhile, the other three Dalish elves were speaking amongst themselves, in that elven tongue. Alistair fidgeted. How to stop this runaway carriage before the horses plunged headlong over a cliff? He looked to Leliana, but they were rescued by a most unlikely source.

"The Veil in this forest is thin, allowing spirits and demons to cross into our world," Morrigan said with her usual haughtiness. "I know you know of this, your leader spoke of it." The Dalish elves shared a look, somewhat chastised. "Animals are not the only living things they can possess," the witch added for good measure.

==#==

Things maybe got better when they came to the boneyard. Dakorien couldn't complain they'd made _this_ mess.

"What? Dear Lady, what... what is this?" He looked around at the carpet of old bones mixed with leaves and dead branches. The other Hunters spread out, looking at the signs of death.

Morrigan said, "It seems a spirit of a different sort lured victims here to feast on their minds and flesh."

Athas shuddered. "There are... dozens - hundreds? - of skeletons. How...?"

"Apparently, 'twas here many many years."

Dakorien looked sidelong at Bannon. "And you came here...?"

"Yep," the city elf replied offhandedly. "Spirits attacked us. We killed 'em."

"That's what Grey Wardens do," Alistair added.

The Hunter looked awed for a moment, just a moment, before he tried to hide it. "Well. Perhaps I... misjudged you. Your fighting capabilities, anyway."

Bannon looked to Alistair. "He's a tough sell."

Alistair just shook his head.

==#==

At last, they came to the entrance to the werewolves' lair. Yes, the eerie mist was still obscuring the entrance. The Dalish elves perked up, eager to begin their scouting mission against their enemies.

"This is the lair?" Dakorien asked. "What lies within?"

Bannon shrugged. "Hell if I know. A big-ass wolf."

The Hunter scowled at his attitude. "You couldn't scout it out?"

"I already saw the big-ass wolf." Bannon waved a hand carelessly. "Feel free."

The elf led the Grey Warden group back from the lair's entrance, while the Dalish Hunters stealthily crept into the mists.

It didn't take very long before they were fleeing back out.

Behind them, a werewolf roared, "Elven spies! Attack!"

A group of werewolves boiled out of the lair, scarpering with awkward speed on all fours. Alistair, Bannon, and Zevran drew their swords as the Dalish passed their ranks and turned.

"Don't kill them," Bannon yelled. "Just drive them off."

Alistair switched focus from his sword to his shield, battering at the beast that tried to pass him by. Elven arrows embedded themselves in the tough hides, barely slowing the werewolves down.

One broke through and managed to tackle the youngest elven Hunter. Alistair darted over and hit it over the head with the flat of his sword before it could bite down. "A little help, over here?"

A flash exploded in the werewolf's face, causing it to tumble back. Alistair pursued, laying about with sword and shield. In a few moments, all the werewolves were thrown back by bow and blade. They snarled and prepared to regroup.

"Watch out!" was the only warning they got from the witch. Spears of ice shot up from the ground in front of the werewolves, driving them further away. Then a low howl sounded over the lair, and the beasts turned tail and ran.

Alistair caught his breath a moment. Bannon yelled out, in an artificially loud and haughty voice, "Quickly, retreat to the elven camp!"

Dakorien glared daggers at him. "What the Shadow do you think you're doing, giving orders?"

"Shh!" Bannon shushed the Dalish and beckoned everyone to move further into the trees. The Hunters fumed, but Alistair shared a smug look with Leliana. Yeah, he was getting used to the city elf's tricks.

They followed the others a little way, then Leliana trotted to catch up with the lead Hunter. "_Akhellan_ Dakorien, I believe-"

"How dare you steal our language!" He stopped, rounding on her. "Our words are not for you, _shem!_"

Leliana blanched back at his vehemence. Bannon turned and came to her side. "Hey! She was just trying to show you respect, by not using _human_ titles on you. But every time we try to honor your ways, you give us shit and tell us we are not worthy."

Holy crap, the Dalish and Bannon were about to slug each other. This was it. What should they do? _Duncan help me now!_

The lead Hunter bristled, and really did look about to take a swing, but the other guy, Athas, caught his arm. "Peace, Dakorien."

Bannon eased back. "Anyway, I wasn't 'deigning to command' anybody. Werewolves have big ears. Now that they heard some snoot elf order everyone back to camp, they won't have to come after us again, and we can scout around this... barrier mist."

"Oh," said Dakorien, backing down further. "I- Perhaps... that was clever. But why didn't you kill the werewolves? Surely you have the skills to do so." Wow, did the Dalish Hunter just compliment them? A hard sell, indeed.

"Because we're in negotiations with them," Bannon explained. "You don't know a lot about negotiations, do you? You kill the other guys, they're not real eager to negotiate."

Dakorien narrowed his eyes. That strategy was pretty smart, and maybe the Hunter secretly agreed, but he'd never say so now. Instead, he turned to lead the group around this mist barrier perimeter. "We may have sufficient forces to defeat them."

"Wipe them out, you mean," Leliana said at his back.

"If necessary."

Leliana tugged Bannon back for a moment. "You don't agree with their plan, do you?"

"They're really not asking me."

"I thought you said last night you were willing to get them to change their minds."

"I'm willing to try," Bannon said tiredly. "But they have one track minds. If we can just get to this Witherfang monster and kill it, all our problems will be solved."

The bard looked then to Alistair. He shrugged. A war on werewolves? He didn't want those people to die, but the elves were their allies. The Wardens were obligated to help them.

==#==

The terrain around the werewolf lair was rough, with no path. Sometimes very steep, often very rocky, or blocked by trees. Bannon followed the Dalish, who presumably knew what they were doing and where they were going.

Up ahead, the ground leveled out and there was a bit of a clearing, around a huge old tree. The Dalish called for a stop to rest and have some lunch. Bannon frowned at the tree. Was that a face in the wrinkles of the bark? "Morrigan," he said, "does this tree seem... you know, alive?"

Morrigan tilted her head to contemplate it. "'Tis hard to say, with the Veil so thin in this entire area."

And in answer, a sonorous voice thrummed through the clearing. "Have no fear; sit beside me. I am but the old and lonely Poet Tree."

Alistair said, "It's... talking?"

To which Bannon replied, "As long as it ain't walking."

"Enjoy thy meal; rest a time. Converse with me, but in Rhyme."

Dakorien said, "It seems interested in conversation."

"Maybe it knows a back door into this lair," Bannon said hopefully.

"Fortunately for you," Zevran said, stepping up, "I know quite a bit of poetry!"

Bannon grabbed him. "We want to be friends, not offend its sensibilities. Leliana, can you talk to it?"

==#==

There were worse things to endure, Bannon thought. Morrigan's wilderness training. Alistair's beard. Grey Warden nightmares, and oh, had those started plaguing him again. Climbing a tower. Worse, fighting your way _up_ a tower. If Bannon never set foot in a tower again, it would be too soon.

His thoughts then turned to plague in the Alienage, and he was grateful for the distraction of rhyming conversation. Zevran was right, he couldn't afford to dwell on it, it would eat him up inside. He locked those thoughts away in a dark cellar.

"Let me try," said Alistair. "I'm beat; when do we eat?"

Morrigan said, "The anthem of the Gravy Wardens."

"Shut up, witch. You're always such-"

"Can we just leave the rhymes to the professionals?" Bannon interrupted. "The professional _bards_," he clarified as Zevran opened his mouth.

"Hmph. But imagine how valuable my vast knowledge of a veritable storehouse of poetry could be worth to such a creature."

Dakorien came over. "You have something to bargain with? This tree seems to know a way through the barrier."

Bannon cut Zevran off. "We're not teaching the tree dirty limericks."

The Dalish made a face. Zevran just pouted.

Dakorien moved to Leliana. "Do I understand correctly? It knows a way through the mists?"

She nodded. "The venerable Poet Tree understands our need to pass through the mists. He will grant us this information if we do him a favor."

"What is this favor?"

"The Poet Tree has conceived an offspring, a large acorn. But a mad hermit who lives in these woods has stolen it." Her voice took on a melancholy tone. "We must bring back his child. He's so lonely."

"If someone took away my nuts," Zevran said, "I would be very sad, too."

"Don't tempt us," Morrigan growled.

Bannon said, "Mad hermit in the woods with a giant nut. Great, this should be easy. Where do we find him?"

==#==

It should have been easy. It _would_ have been, if it had just been Bannon and Zevran. The assassin could have slit the guy's throat, and/or Bannon could have stolen the acorn back. But no. Leliana had to try to be reasonable. Dakorien had to be imperious about a shem trespasser. Then the mad hermit got _really_ mad and lobbed a fireball at them, and it was just a huge mess.

Fortunately, no one was too badly burned. Leliana and Athas needed a healing draught after it was all over. The hermit, of course, was quite dead. And stank, but that was nothing new.

Bannon looked around the shoddy, makeshift camp, wondering where they scraggly old shem was hiding a nut. He wasn't checking under the guy's tattered robes.

Alistair looked at a greenish-white warped wheel of... something that was protruding from a fallen log. "Is this cheese? It smells like mold." He took another inquisitive whiff. "Or is it mold that smells like cheese?"

"It's a lichen," Dakorien informed him impatiently.

"Is it edible?"

"Alistair," Morrigan interjected, "were you raised by rats?"

"Dogs! I was raised by dogs!"

"I found something," Bannon said. He eyed a soggy old stump draped with moss and peppered with red-capped mushrooms. It was large enough to hold something of a decent size, if it was hollow. The elf moved around it, looking for a hole. He found a dank crevasse and frowned in distaste.

"Be careful," Dakorien warned. "Those are the mushrooms I told you about."

Great, definitely the mad hermit's stash, but what would he keep inside? "Zev, check it out."

"Ah, now you recognize my quite valuable worth, _mi patrone._"

"Yes, I saw this slimy, saggy thing and thought immediately of you."

"Pah!" Zevran knelt down and eyed the crack closely. "My my, what do we have here, my delicate flower?" He slipped his fingers gently into the crease and began fondling it.

Bannon rolled his eyes. "Just shove your hand in there, will you?"

"Tsk tsk!" Zevran scolded him. "I thought you were a man of more finesse! I, assuredly, am quite skilled. You should know that by now."

"Come on, it's _not_ a-"

"A-hah!" With a smirk, Zevran drew a thorn from the crack. "Trapped. You see? You could be dead by now, Ser Shove-It-In."

For once, Bannon didn't have a witty comeback.

Yet, Zevran had to keep hamming it up. "No, my dear," he addressed the stump, "let us see what secrets you hold... Mmm..." He continued wedging his hand into the crevasse. Alistair turned red and stomped off. Leliana shared a glance with Morrigan, who also decided to have a huff elsewhere. The Dalish stared, then shared their own looks.

"Let's see," Zevran mused. "When was the last time I put my hand in such a narrow, slippery hole? Ah, yes! I recall. 'Tis truly a story I shall have to share-"

"We don't have all day," Bannon griped.

"So impatient you are! Ah!" Zevrans' eyes widened, then went unfocused as he groped around inside the stump. "I think I have found the prize. Ohhhh..."

Dakorien frowned. "Are you sure he hasn't been affected by the mushrooms? Even light skin contact could twist his mind."

"I'm sure," Bannon said. "This is his normal twisted mind."

Zevran was grunting softly, making a show of pulling the acorn through the presumably narrow crack. "Mmn...! Ah!" His fist popped out, clutching a large acorn.

"Gee, I thought it would be bigger," Bannon said.

"Well, you want to see bigger nuts, _amore'_-"

"_Thank you_, Zevran" Bannon cut him off quickly. He hoped the Dalish didn't deduce the meaning of the Antivan word. "Let's go, there's a tree desperate to get this back."

==_X_==


	20. The Werewolves' Lair

**The Werewolves' Lair**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

This storyline can't finish too soon for me!

_Retcon:_

**NOTICE:** as of 10/14, I have changed things in the chapters "A New Plan" and "Scouting." Please, please, if you read "A New Plan" before this date, go back and check out the new stuff, down at the end when they're trying to figure out how the werewolf curse works and how there are still werewolves after decades. Bigger conversations, more conversations, Bannon gets a new attitude, and there's even a Bannon &amp; Zevran interaction that was totally missing from this whole quest.

"Scouting"s retcon was much smaller, and probably not noticeable. The other chapters were not changed.

Basically, Bannon switches sides in the 'humans vs elves' argument (negotiation vs war) earlier.

_Recap:_

The Dalish Hunters and Grey Wardens half group went to scout out the werewolf lair. The Hunters met Witherfang (run away!) and then scouted around the perimeter of the protective mists.

They met the Poet Tree and the Nutty Hermit. Now they're returning to the Tree with the Acorn.

* * *

**The Werewolves' Lair**

===#===

"It is such great joy to see; my beloved acorn returned to me." Indeed, the sonorous voice sounded a lot more cheerful. The tree's limbs rose like a person throwing his hands up in delight, though more sedately. "My eternal gratitude for completing this task. Anything I can do for you, just ask."

"You are welcome, in your gladness," Leliana said with a smile. "It warms my heart to relieve your sadness. Our quest is to pass the mists that fill the air, and venture into the werewolves' lair."

"The dangers are great, as you must know; but I shall help you make it so. Take this bough I give to thee; bear it with you, and you shall see; the mists will welcome you as spirit-kin. Yet beware the beasts that lie within." The tree bent a limb to the ground, and snapped off a small branch the size of a wand.

Leliana accepted it with more rhymed gratitude, and the others practically had to drag her away.

"That was a profound experience," she said. "I have never had a chance to converse at length with a spirit from beyond the Veil, and practice my bardic skills as well." She looked fondly at the branch, which bore leaves of dusky green.

"We should test this stick," the arrogant city elf, Bannon, told the bard.

"How many Hunters can breach the mists with it?" asked Dakorien. "It will be useless if it works for only the person holding it."

"We're not all going," Bannon insisted. "I'll go."

"Why should you be the one to go?"

"I'm the leader of-"

"_I'm_ the leader of the Dalish Hunters. _I_ will scout our enemies' lair."

The human woman interrupted. "The branch was gifted to me. _I_ shall decide who goes. And clearly, it should be a diplomat, to speak with the werewolves." She indicated herself.

"Leliana, it's dangerous," Bannon argued.

Dakorien ground his teeth. This was the business of Clan Teirhylle. The shemlen and flat ears had no right to march in here and decide the fate of the Dalish.

The bard decreed she would deign to take him and the Grey Warden elf, if they left their weapons behind. This sparked an argument from both elves. She only relented when the big armored shem pleaded with her, in fear for her life if she went unguarded into the maw of the beast.

She relented, but insisted they carry only swords, sheathed, and no bows. If Dakorien wanted to go at all, he had to comply.

He let his anger run silent and deep, no trace of emotion on his countenance, as his father had taught him. The mixed group returned to the gateway, and the three 'emissaries' moved stealthily through the mists. The pearl grey fog thickened into a wall. Unlike last time, Dakorien passed through the wall, and no giant spirit wolf attacked.

They came out on the other side into an overgrown courtyard made up of equal parts crumbling ruin and natural earth. An elm tree shielded them from sight. The city elf moved to the trunk and crouched behind it. Dakorien and the shem bard moved slowly towards a glimpse of activity in the open area of the courtyard.

What happened next occurred to swiftly for Dakorien to process it. "Intruders!" came a beastly growl, and other voices: "Protect the Lady!"

"We come in peace, to parley," the bard called, but already, a hairy brute had leapt upon Dakorien even as he reached for his dar'misaan. He heard screaming, the woman or the flat-ear being mauled perhaps, while he himself was pinned to the ground. A furred hand gripped his neck, claws digging threateningly into his skin. Sharp yellowed teeth filled his vision, a growl issued from the chest and throat behind them.

Dakorien prepared to die in one last desperate attempt to draw his blade and gut the monster atop him.

Then all sound and motion ceased, as an unearthly bell-toned voice said, "Peace."

Dakorien felt himself calm and relax under its soothing influence. In a few moments, he was slowly sitting up beside the werewolf that crouched on its haunches.

The others were unhurt, the bard and city elf. Five werewolves sat in a loose circle with them. And in the center stood -

"Great Lady," Dakorien breathed. She was the Spirit of the Forest, protector of the Dalish and all the creatures of nature. The softly-glowing figure was female, clothed in branches and leaves. Only not clothed, it was as if they were part of her, growing from her pale skin. Her hair was a nest of green twigs and leaves, her eyes shimmered gold-green.

The big silver beast that sat next to Bannon turned to the Lady. "They attack us, in our sanctuary!"

"We only came to talk," Bannon lied, the coward. Or, Dakorien had to grudgingly admit, perhaps he was just very prudent. He, too, let the bard talk, as it was her idea.

"You did not bring Zathrian," the spirit commented.

"He is as yet unwilling to negotiate. He believes his actions, his curse, are justified."

"We only wish to end our torment," the silver werewolf growled. "To end this curse!"

"Relinquish Witherfang," Dakorien told him. "Slaying him is the only way to-"

"_No!_" The werewolf snapped its jaws, shutting him up.

"Peace," the Lady said once more, spreading her hands. The werewolves calmed somewhat. "Destroying Witherfang will do you no good. His spirit is bound to Zathrian's, as Zathrian's is bound to his. Neither can truly perish while the other lives."

What? The Keeper's longevity was not natural? Not a heritage of the elves, but dark magic? He narrowed his eyes at the spirit. The Lady of the Forest protected the creatures of the wood, sometimes aiding the Dalish, sometimes thwarting them in the hunt. Dakorien had always thought of her as a force for good, for balance, but if she were in league with the werewolves, perhaps his assessment of her nature had been wrong.

Meanwhile Bannon blurted, "So we bring Zathrian here, and he can break the curse?"

"Yes."

"All right, then that's what we'll do."

Dakorien stood and glared at him. "You do not speak for my clan, flat-ears!"

"Fine!" The city elf threw up his hands. "You tell 'em."

The werewolves stirred, some growling, showing teeth. Dakorien relaxed his posture. "We shall return to the clan and speak to Zathrian." Surely, the Keeper had the wisdom to explain the true situation.

The bard rose smoothly, her pet elf by her side. "The Grey Wardens will parley with the Dalish on your behalf. May we be granted safe passage?"

The Lady nodded. "Let it be so."

===#===

Dakorien, Fethran, and Athas led the way back towards camp along a more direct path. In low voices, they discussed what Dakorien had seen within the lair.

"It is no shame to be defeated by a powerful enemy," Fethran said. Dakorien frowned, but did not gainsay her. "Especially if you return with the knowledge of how to defeat them." She did not seem interested in his meeting of the Lady of the Forest, but instead asked practical questions, like the layout of the courtyard.

Dakorien mentioned the trees large enough for cover. "With archers safely out of reach in the branches, we could have a distinct advantage."

"Do any trees overlook the wall?" Fethran asked.

"If they do, the mists block them, anyway."

Then the twangy accent of a city elf broke in. "Can werewolves climb trees?"

Dakorien scowled over his shoulder. Bannon and the darker flat-ears had come up behind the Dalish on the trail. Rather quietly, for the Dalish not to have noticed. "Wolves do not climb trees," Dakorien insisted.

"Wolves don't, but have you seen these werewolves? They got long arms and big, clawed hands."

"It seems to me," Zevran added, "they could climb quite handily, if they put their minds to it."

Bannon continued. "The courtyard is too open. You should bottleneck them at the doorway."

"Fighting them in close quarters is dangerous. Their bite is infectious, if you've forgotten."

"You'd need a front line of heavy armor."

"The Dalish do not wear such large amounts of metal. That is a shemlen thing," Dakorien scoffed.

"Well, it's lucky for you I have a heavy armor shem, a golem, and a qunari," Bannon said with a smug smile.

"They would fight in our battle?"

"They're with the Grey Wardens, and the Grey Wardens are allies with the elves. And in case you missed it, I'm the leader of the Grey Wardens," Bannon said. "So yeah, they do what I tell them."

The flat-ear was arrogant, but his usefulness could not be denied. Dakorien considered this alliance. Going to war against this Blight seemed a reasonable price to pay to free his people from the threat of the werewolves and their curse.

Then again, the flat-ear might be aggrandizing his own influence, as evinced by the shem bard, who spoke out contrary to Bannon's claim. "We are not fighting the werewolves. We will negotiate a peaceful truce."

"Yeah," Bannon said flippantly over his shoulder. "And how often has that worked for us?"

"We do not have to fight! The werewolves want to end the curse as much as we do."

"They wish to kill Zathrian," Dakorien said, "in order to escape the punishment they deserve."

"They've been punished enough. It is time to end this." The red-haired woman glared at him, and the city elf as well.

Bannon gave in with a shrug. "Look, if Zathrian just tries to reason with them, or even just shows up to mollify-"

"_Quiet!_" Athas warned, signaling a halt. "What is that?" he hissed.

Dakorien had his bow in hand already. He strained his ears forward and heard a sound, like a wounded animal. He nodded to his Hunters to circle around, then took a moment to tell the Wardens' group to "Stay here." Hopefully, they could manage silence for at least few minutes.

Fethran and Athas had melted into the trees to either side. Dakorien crept straight forward. He couldn't identify the animal. It was certainly not a rabbit or a halla. A wolf? Or had a shem dog strayed so far into the forest?

Then again, he thought he heard words. He steadied himself against tricks of the forest spirits.

When the Hunters came into the clearing, they found, of all things, a werewolf. It crouched alone, quivering and circling like a mad beast, worrying a scrap of cloth in its paws.

"Must..." growl... "remember - _kill!_" ...whimper.

It sank deep onto his haunches, back bowed, snuffling furiously at the cloth. It must have slain an elven woman and tore the hand-woven scarf from her body.

Dakorien drew an arrow to put the mad thing out of its misery.

"_No! Stop!_"

He lowered his aim at Athas' cry. The werewolf's head snapped around. Its wild eyes dilated. It snarled and began to turn towards him.

Then Athas burst out of the brush to Dakorien's right, drawing the beast's attention. It aborted its lunge, drew back as if in fear, jaw gaping.

"Dan... Danyla?" Athas breathed.

A mournful cry issued from the creature's throat, and it hunched away, covering its head with its paws.

"I... gave that scarf to Danyla as a betrothal token." Mesmerized, the young Hunter stepped towards the werewolf. "When they told me she didn't return from the forest, I thought the worst..." He reached out slowly.

"Noooo," the creature moaned. "No... I will... hurt you..."

Athas' face went ashen. "This is worse."

Fethran approached warily from the left, arrow nocked. The noise behind Dakorien told him the Wardens' group had also arrived.

"Ah... dhas." The werewolf struggled to form words with its long, toothy maw. "Kill me... please."

"Danyla, no!" The Hunter's legs trembled.

"Please! Kill me! It hurts..."

"I'll do it," Dakorien said, seeing Athas frozen in horror, tears spilling from his eyes. He drew his bow once more, but the flat-ear had the audacity to come over and shove his arm.

"What are you, nuts?" Bannon snapped at him.

Dakorien shoved back. "Can't you see the suffering she is in?"

The werewolf, once an elven maid, thrashed its head from side to side, snapping at the air in its internal struggle. It slavered angrily one moment, then its head whipped to the scarf that had fallen to the ground. Its jaw went lax and it whimpered, staring at the cloth as if it were her only salvation.

"We're about to cure the curse!" Bannon said. "And you want to kill her _now?_"

Athas tensed at the mere breath of hope.

The werewolf - Danyla - snarled. "I'll kill you!"

"We must," Dakorien said. "She will kill us all. Or worse."

"She doesn't want to!"

"It doesn't matter! What do you suggest we do, take her back to camp with us? It would expose every man, woman, and child of us left!"

"Well, tie her up, for Andraste's sake! Make sure she can't get to anybody!" Bannon turned and walked determinedly towards the werewolf. "Hey," he cajoled softly, "Danyla, right? What part of the camp do you live in?"

The low growl thrumming in her throat died out as her brow creased and she tried to think back, to remember.

This was madness, but Athas put aside his bow and moved to help. "Easy, easy, my love. Let us bind you. Let us help you. Soon... very soon, we can be together again."

Dakorien shared a look with Fethran. She stood tense, ready to draw her bow. But they were so close to the beast, if she chose to attack, there would be no time to stop her.

Then the Warden's Chasind offered to help with a spell of sleep. "I do not know how effective it will be on such a creature," she cautioned.

"Anything that will help. Thank you, Morrigan."

Athas dared to touch the werewolf, to stroke her soothingly, to coax her to lie down. The Chasind cast the spell, thrice just to be sure, and the werewolf - Danyla - sagged upon the ground in repose. The two flat-ears and the bard bound her tightly. Leliana gave Athas the scarf, and he wound it around her muzzle, tied it over her eyes.

Bannon dusted off his hands as if he'd done all the work himself. Dakorien seethed. But... what could he say? He and Athas fashioned a travois to carry Danyla back to camp.

===#===

They caused quite a stir, back at the camp. The scouts approached them, warily but eager, wanting to know if they had captured one of the werewolves. What were they going to do with it? Was it a hostage? Would they interrogate it?

"No!" Dakorien barked. "She is one of us." The scouts backed off, chastised. "The curse will soon be ended, and she will be cured." Gods, he hoped. He checked Danyla's bindings one more time, then placed her in a secure area behind the smokehouse.

He had no time to answer his mother's questions before everyone gathered in the center of camp, where Zathrian was waiting for a report.

"You've brought a werewolf among us?" the hahren demanded.

"Yes. She is secured. When the curse is ended, she shall return to herself."

Zathrian nodded. "Yes, yes. Then you've found a way to attack the werewolves?"

"Yes," Dakorien said, a bit more hesitantly. "But-"

"Is there a way through the mists or not?"

"There is a way, hahren." Dakorien wanted to explain fully, but Fethran cut to the heart of the matter.

"The shemlen woman has a branch from a spirit tree that allows passage through the mists."

So Zathrian turned to the Wardens. "Give us this branch, that we may use it to defeat our enemies."

"No," the red-haired bard said. "Zathrian, the werewolves want to negotiate. I will take you to the lair, in order that you may speak with them."

"Are you not our allies?" The elder glared at the elf Warden.

Bannon, infuriatingly, only shrugged. "It's her stick. You should do what she says."

"What do I need to do to convince you to give our warriors the key to the werewolves' stronghold? Do you want them to slaughter us all?" Zathrian turned, gesturing to the gathered crowd, to the tree branches, where some had climbed to be able to see. "We must defend ourselves!"

The bard was unmoved. "I will condone no action that leads your people to war."

Muttering stirred through the crowd. But Zathrian lowered his voice. "Perhaps we simply need to _take_ this branch from you."

The shem Warden moved closer to the bard one hand on his sword, and Bannon stepped forward. "Are you not _our_ allies?" He did not reach for his swords, but his hands were at his belt, where a dagger was sheathed.

Dakorien stepped forward to defend his hahren, his hand on the hilt of his dar'misaan. Then, surprisingly, Lanaya stepped between him and Zathrian. She restrained him with one hand, and extended the other with her staff to defend the hahren.

"This is a peaceful gathering, for talk. No weapons." She shot Dakorien a sidelong glance.

He stepped back and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

The city elf, too, lifted his hands in a shrug, showing them to be empty. "You're not taking Leliana's stick."

"Of course the flat-ears would stick with his human masters," Dakorien sneered. "Like their pets. Living so long among the shemlen has made you just like them."

"Hey, you know, just because I wasn't born in a bush doesn't make me less of an elf than you!" Bannon stepped towards him again. Dakorien stiffened slightly, but made no move that showed he might be afraid of this city elf. "And you know what? Where I come from, there are people who treat us like we're beneath them, who call us names because of our ears, and those people are shems! If you want to see an elf acting like a shem, take a look in the mirror, pal!"

Dakorien heard a few gasps beneath the rushing in his ears. He unclasped his hands and bristled, ready to punch the city elf in the face, council or no council.

"Peace, Dakorien," Athas said, coming up on his left. He looked around at the gathering. "Bannon is a worthy elf."

The Dalish looked to one another, muttering low amongst themselves. Athas was still a young Hunter; he did not have a lot of influence on the Clan. Then Sarel stepped into the circle of firelight. "The Wardens, and their companions," he shot a pointed look at Leliana, "fight for a noble cause. They are not our enemies. We should heed their counsel."

"Above that of our own hahren?" Fethran demanded boldly.

Lanaya answered her. "We will listen to all sides, all opinions. No one person is infallible." She avoided Zathrian's eyes, which blazed at her. Dakorien bit his lip.

Bannon turned to the assembly. "Look, I know you hate humans. You don't even have to live with them!" He gave a wry smile, and the bard folded her arms behind him in a huff. "But these humans are not the humans from our past. They are their own people. And the humans that hurt Zathrian's family? Yeah, they deserved to be punished. No one is gonna argue with that."

The city elf paced around the fire, raising his voice to the crowd. "These humans agree! What _those_ men did was a crime! But - think on this. What if it had been a crime committed by one elf clan against another? Would you still want them punished? So much, for so long? When will you put it behind you? When will you say, 'enough'?"

Now he turned and faced Zathrian, directly across the fire. "Speak with the werewolves, that is all we ask. Put an end to this curse. This curse, afflicting _your people!_" Bannon flung a hand towards the infirmary tents. "Take some time to think about it. Tomorrow, we will act. Do you want to go to war, or do you want to negotiate?"

Zathrian raised his voice to meet the elf's. "The conclave will vote on the morn. Will the Grey Wardens honor the decision?" He narrowed his eyes.

Bannon locked gazes with him, then turned to the bard. She looked torn for a moment, then nodded once. "The fate of your people is in their own hands. The Wardens will honor the treaty."

===_X_===


	21. The Curse

**The Curse**

_CONTENT:_  
Rating: Teen  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: maybe  
Violence: no  
Nudity: some  
Sex: none  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Maker help me through this.

_Recap:_

Zathrian cursed the humans who killed his children, mingling his blood with a stray wolf who embodied a spirit and became Witherfang. Witherfang hunted the humans, turning them into werewolves. Because of the blood bond between Zathrian and Witherfang, the elf did not age and die. But more humans fell prey to the werewolf curse, over the years.

Finally tired of being beasts, their leader SwiftRunner and the Lady of the Forest (a benign nature spirit) forged a plan to force Zathrian to end the curse, by attacking his Dalish clan and infecting elves.

Zathrian refused to deal with the werewolves, urging his people, and the Grey Wardens, to try to wipe out their enemies. Still, more and more people are starting to think negotiation is the best answer...

* * *

**The Curse**

===#===

Lanaya and Sarel approached Zathrian as he left his aravel the next morning. "Has the conclave voted already?" he asked them, seeing the determined cast of their faces.

"We have," said Sarel.

Lanaya said, "We discussed the matter long into the night."

"And?"

"We believe it is in the best interest of the clan to end this conflict without more lives lost. Please, Keeper Zathrian, we wish you to parley with the werewolves. To end the curse."

Zathrian nodded, his thoughts in turmoil. He did not want the duty to his family to come into conflict with his duty to his clan, but apparently, it needs must. He was disappointed, but had to admit the First had a point. The Wardens had agreed to honor the decision; he could not do less. "Was the vote unanimous?" he wondered aloud.

"Dakorien voted to fight."

"he is a true Hunter, like his father." Zathrian nodded again, shoring up his determination. "We will leave presently. Lanaya, you will accompany me, with Dakorien and his lieutenant. Inform the Wardens they may bring a party of four as well.

===#===

Wynne argued she should go. "You're not going to fight. You need a mage and healer."

"If we're not going to fight, then we won't need a healer," Bannon countered.

"You'll need wise counsel. Not a warrior. No offense, Alistair."

"That's me, inoffensive and unwise," the Templar griped.

Bannon said, "The Grey Wardens are expected on this expedition. Alistair is a Grey Warden."

"Then Zevran should stay."

"The Dalish want elves along. We have two elves, two Wardens, and the lady with the stick." He gestured to Leliana.

The bard said, "Perhaps I should be a neutral party, not one of your four."

She gave Bannon a pointed look, and he had to agree it was a good cheat. But, "Are you sure you've recovered enough?" he asked Wynne in concern.

"I'm _fine_."

"If this goes off right, this may be the last day to rest before we get back on the trail. Or worse, if things go wrong, this could be the last day before a bloody, brutal war."

The old mage looked torn.

Leliana went and put a hand on her arm. "Stay and tend to the stricken in Lanaya's absence. Do not let anyone take the cup, and make sure that any who do turn are secured, and not executed."

Wynne sighed. "I suppose that is best."

===#===

The Wardens and Dalish trekked through the forest once more. When they came to the gate closed by mists, Leliana strode to the fore, drawing the Poet Tree's branch from her satchel. "We come in peace," she called. "Keeper Zathrian is here to speak with SwiftRunner!"

The mists swirled.

"Can we not simply walk in?" Zathrian asked impatiently.

"We do not want our actions mistaken," Leliana told him firmly. "It is only polite to announce yourself on a visit, yes?"

The old elf waited in grumpy silence.

The mists continued to swirl until a shape appeared within. It grew larger, very large, more distinct. In a moment, Witherfang's great head emerged, eyes glinting red. Massive paws and a mountain of furred shoulders followed.

"_Zathrian._"  
"I am here."

"_No tricks._" The massive wolf drew back its lips, sniffed the air towards them. Bannon didn't realize he was backing away until he felt Zevran's hand between his shoulder blades.

"You wished to talk," Zathrian said, nonplussed. "We shall talk, and we shall leave, in peace."

Teeth flashed. "_We will hope_." The wolf turned, and the mist swallowed it up. "_Enter._"  
Leliana and Zathrian led the way. When the group emerged on the other side of the white wall, Witherfang had vanished. Four werewolves crouched on their haunches, heads lowered, watching the party with suspicion. The Lady of the Forest stood in the center of the ruined courtyard like a pale birch.

"_Come inside_," her melodic voice urged.

They, along with their werewolf escort, followed. They traversed the corridors of the ruins, half stone, half moss and dirt, until they came to a feast hall.

The scene inside made everyone stop and stare. It was like a circus, Alistair thought, with the dancing bears shuffling around in their pink frilly skirts. There were werewolves here, dressed in old-fashioned clothing, faded and torn. It didn't fit them properly, so they only wore a piece or two, and fur bristled out from the edges, stuck out in tufts through the rents. One crook-legged werewolf minced around trying not to trip on its dress. Alistair closed his throat against a sudden bark of laughter.

At the table, torn chunks of raw meat sat on gold-rimmed plates. Werewolves clutched dainty silverware in brutish claws in a twisted pantomime of a nobleman's feast.

"This is horrible," Leliana whispered.

Nearby, two other werewolves were trying to coax a smaller brown one into another dress. His - or her? Alistair couldn't really tell - big claws kept snagging on the fabric. Finally, with a scream of frustration, the werewolf tore at the dress, clawing it to shreds. The other werewolves tried to calm her. Yet, clearly agitated at her violence, they drew back their lips, snarling. Others at the table hunched low over the bloody meat and growled suspiciously at their neighbors.

"Why are they dressing up?" Alistair asked, truly baffled. "Werewolves in scarves and hats? That's just..."

"It's ridiculous," Bannon said. "They have fur. And can't they just use their claws and teeth to eat?"

"We are not beasts," SwiftRunner snapped. He growled.

"Well," Alistair said quickly, "we meant no offense."

"Without the Lady's presence, the curse makes us behave like animals."

The spirit glided towards the table. "Peace," her bell-like voice intoned. Though otherworldly, it washed over Alistair with a soothing caress. The werewolves felt it too, and they calmed. The one tearing at its dress dropped to all fours, head lowered in submission.

"We fight," SwiftRunner continued. "Even kill each other." He hunkered down, picking nervously at the worn leather belt he wore. "Sometimes... sometimes there is a pup, a... baby."

Alistair shot a look at Bannon, who was also making a face. Ugh!

Leliana said, "A child is a blessing. Does it not give the parents more love?"

SwiftRunner sneered. "There is no love. Only violence. The pups are helpless. They get eaten."

Now Alistair really was going to be sick. Leliana and Lanaya were also looking green. The bard turned to Zathrian. "How can you let this go on!"

The old elf folded his arms and his face remained stone. "Why should they have children when they took mine from me?"

"The ones who did that have been dead for decades! You are the cause of all this needless suffering." Leliana clutched at his sleeve. "Let go of your hatred."

"And dishonor my family?"

"She is right, hahren," Lanaya said. "Your duty now is to your clan. What of our survival?"

"Our people can fight. The Clan will triumph."

Athas had drifted closer to the table, staring at the horrid tableau. He turned back. "They _are_ our clan. Look at them!"

Alistair and the others looked at the gathered werewolves. The big grey ones wore the dusty costumes, while the smaller, feral brown ones looked on.

"These are your people, Zathrian," The Lady said. "Afflicted with the curse."

"Hahren, this has to stop," Dakorien said.

Athas moved to plead with the elven leader. "Will you damn your own people along with the shemlen? What of Danyla? They are all like her. It is difficult enough to hold on to the Dalish ways - soon they will not be able to even speak at all!"

"What is done is done," Zathrian insisted.

"The curse can be undone," Leliana shot back.

"Hey," said Bannon, "I understand hating someone who hurt your family, and wanting to hurt them back. And wanting them to suffer, not just die and be done with it. But those people are _gone_. What are you really accomplishing by letting the curse spread?"

Alistair added, "It's like the Blight. It doesn't care who it infects, it twists everyone and everything it taints."

"Your children have passed beyond the Veil," The Lady said. "Your mate as well. Is hatred all you have left to honor them? Their spirits long for love and happiness."

Leliana asked, "Do you not remember your family, how they were when they were alive? The sound of their voices? Their smiles?"

Zathrian frowned, tightening his lips. His eyes cast about, seeking memories. Then his head dropped. "No," he confessed. "I-I can't!" He brought his hands to his head.

The Lady moved to place comforting hands upon him. "Then perhaps it is time you rejoined them."

"Yes." The strength seemed to run out of the elven clan leader, his age catching up with him all at once. "I am ready."

The others instinctively moved back, as if propelled by the weight of this decision. Within the cleared circle, the shimmering Lady approached Zathrian. "Show me the mark."

The Keeper pulled back his sleeve, revealing a jagged crescent scar, an ancient bite mark.

The lady brushed her twiggy hand across it, and it bled freely once more. The Dalish tensed at Zathrian's cry, but remained rooted to the spot. A tear marked the First's cheek as witness to their leader's moment of passing.

Wounds opened in the translucent flesh of the forest spirit, upon her flank, her leg. Dark blood poured down while white light shone forth. Her arms entwined with Zathrian's as ethereal magic caused the flow of blood to spiral around them. The light of the magic's power drove the witnesses back further.

Within, the spirit grew more transparent; the elf shed his youth, and years ravaged his skin and frame.

Around the hall, a mournful howl arose from the werewolves, a tribute to their Lady's transcendence.

Alistair saw silent tears in the eyes of the Dalish, even the faces of Bannon and Zevran looked stricken. The elves suffered a great loss, he realized. Their belief that Zathrian was returning to the old ways of their ancestors, their hope for a return of their ancient nation, dashed. Their leader for lifetimes was now departing. His loss would be felt by the whole Clan.

The Lady's form dissolved and transformed into the great white wolf. Wild eyes glinted through the ethereal light. With the loss of their lady, the werewolves went feral, snarling in renewed hatred, crouching to spring, jaws slavering, eyes wild. Was this part of the plan?

The Wardens and the Dalish drew together defensively. "We cannot kill them," Leliana called out.

Bannon drew his swords and stepped forward. "Get behind me!"

Dakorien joined him, his elven blades bare. "Get behind us!"

Alistair just shook his head and joined them on the left. Didn't they know you got behind the shields? Still, nice to see them working together for once.

"This is gonna hurt!"

The Dalish First cast protective spells over them, then readied healing magic.

The werewolves milled around, most eyes fixed on their bipedal prey, but some snapped at others, lashed out with claws as the violence within them rose to a crescendo. Alistair could see SwiftRunner, singled out by his kilt, shaking, fighting... with himself. He clawed at his own chest, trying to slay the beast within.

Suddenly, the growls turned to screams, high-pitched shrieks of agony. The light at the center of the hall flared, then died, leaving in its wake a swirl of leaves and twigs, bone dust and cloth.

The Lady of the Forest and Zathrian were no more.

In the burning after images, humans lay on the floor, mixed with several elves. Dirty, hair matted, shivering, naked; some still cried out, thrashed with pain. Lanaya went among them, but there were only mild scratches, cuts, bruises. Nothing but the anguish of the mind harmed them.

"They're... naked," Alistair blurted.

"You did not notice before?" Zevran teased.

Well, come on! They had fur, and no... sticky-outy bits! That he had seen. Not that he'd wanted to see! Maybe someone should have thought to bring clothes?

One man, grizzled and grey-bearded, clambered to his feet and stumbled towards them. Alistair was glad SwiftRunner had that ridiculous kilt on. "I... we..." He flexed his jaw. "We are... We are... h-human."

Others gained their feet, the elves among them a bit more swiftly. They drew apart, many trying to hide their nakedness. Some darted away, down corridors.

"What will you do now?" Leliana asked SwiftRunner.

"I don't know. We... we will live, now."

Bannon said, "If you want, you can head west to Redcliffe. You can join us in the battle against the Blight. We could use some fierce fighters."

SwiftRunner shook his head. "We are not... I don't want to hurt and kill any more. We will work... on remembering ourselves. We will start here." His words grew stronger, more sane. "We will clean up these ruins, re-learn our humanity. Until we are ready to go back into the world. As ourselves."

"That is a noble plan," Leliana agreed.

"You should go live amongst your own people as soon as you are able," Lanaya said.

"What?" said SwiftRunner. "You want to drive us from the only home we have known for these long year?"

"No... SwiftRunner. Is that how you still wish to be addressed?"

The man's brow creased. "I... I don't recall my given name."

Leliana said, "All she meant was, in order for you to fully regain your humanity, you should be among humans, within their community."

"To regain your equilibrium," Lanaya added.

Leliana reached and let her fingertips brush the former werewolf's arm, without touching or startling him. "When you are ready, SwiftRunner. When you are ready to return. I'm sure the Dalish will have no qualms about you living her for a time." She looked to the First.

"We will have to ask the... Keeper." Lanaya stumbled over the realization.

"You are the Keeper now, Lanaya," the bard said gently.

The elf put her face in her hands. Then, "Yes," she said, taking a breath and lifting her head. "The Dalish grant you the right to use these ruins, the wood and water around them, in reparation for the ill done to you in the past by Keeper Zathrian."

===#===

Thus the humans remained in the ancient ruins. The elves returned to their camp with their lost brethren. The air crackled with the news, both the bitter and the triumphant. The werewolves were no longer a threat, their curse lifted. Yet Keeper Zathrian had perished.

Later, Sarel came to the Wardens' aravels to summon Bannon and Zevran to meet with the Keeper, and several of the clan's elders, which included the storyteller and Dakorien.

Lanaya welcomed them. "Wardens, Clan Teirhylle is grateful beyond measure for your aid in this time of crisis."

_All right_, Bannon thought. _Time for the rewards!_ He knew all this work had to pay off. "The Dalish are our allies," he said humbly. "We were honored to help."

She nodded at him. "In appreciation of you and your invaluable services, we would like to offer you membership in our clan."

"Honorary membership," Dakorien was swift to point out.

"Ah, I kinda like my face the way it is," Bannon said. It was never his dream to 'run away and join the Dalish.' Considering what they thought of city elves, this probably was a great honor. Still, if he showed up in Denerim with tattoos on his face, he'd be arrested on sight. Not helpful.

Zevran said, "A dashing tattoo or rakish scar could only improve its perfection."

"You wanted me to lose an eye just so I could get a 'rakish' eyepatch! Get out of here!"

"Well, one must sacrifice for fashion, no?"

"The vallaslin," Dakorien said with strained patience, "are only for those who follow the Gods of Arlathan."

"Oh." Bannon gave the Hunter a sidelong look. "Dakorien, you seriously agree with this?"

"Ah, well..." He shifted uncomfortably. "You... may not have been born in a bush, but you are a true warrior. Both of you." He looked at each of them. "And... I have had time to reflect on your words, about the behavior of shemlen." Now his gaze rested on the dirt at his feet. "I apologize for my prejudices. They were not worthy of a Dalish clan elder."

"So," said Zevran, "we are no longer 'flat-ears'?"

"I think your ears are very handsome."

The Antivan grinned. Bannon just stared. _This can _not _be happening!_ He

straightened a bit. "We would be honored to become part of your clan, of course." He bowed.

===#===

So they ended up in Dalish leather armor - which Bannon had to admit, fit a lot better than any he had worn before. And the helmets were a dream! They no longer had to wear re-purposed buckets on their heads, and the style, Zevran exclaimed, was quite raptorial.

They had also been gifted with pairs of dar'misaan, the Dalish long blades. They were asymmetrical and balanced oddly to Bannon's hand, but hey did indeed look wicked.

Lanaya's ascension ceremony was both a mourning and a celebration. The Clan seemed devastated by Zathrian's absence. Well, Bannon had to remember, he'd been a fixture in their lives for... all their lives - and beyond. If the Denerim Alienage lost hahren Valendrian, they would be lost as well. Thinking of his hahren, his home, pained him, so he put it out of his mind.

The bulk of the ceremony was taken up by Sarel detailing the sequence of events leading up to the breaking of the curse. Since many of the elves had been wounded or stricken, or dealing with all that, none of them knew the whole story. Sarel did pause at the part where the Grey Wardens went off in search of Witherfang. Bannon happily took over the spotlight to fill in events, weaving a more light-hearted tale that only slightly aggrandized the Wardens, and of course left out the part about Wynne being a possessed undead creature.

Zathrian was mourned, Keeper Lanaya was elevated, and the Grey Wardens were celebrated. The feast was perforce on the lean side, but nothing held back the music and dancing.

At midnight, a song of mourning and hope was sung, and everyone went to bed.

Which was rather a letdown, Bannon thought. He turned to Zevran as their party walked the path back to their aravels. "You didn't score any women?"

"More than you did, _mi_ jealous _patrone_."

"Really? Because by my count, you have exactly as many as I do - zero."

Leliana turned on them. "Will you two show some respect! The Clan is in mourning!"

"All right, all right!" Bannon held up his hands innocently.

Zevran said, "We only meant to console them."

To which Wynne replied, "Zevran, shut it!"

They both did, but Zevran couldn't help muttering to himself about other prospects for his night.

===_X_===


	22. Back to Business

**Back to Business**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: some sparring  
Nudity: yes (m)  
Sex: yes (m/m)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Stuff to get done before we get back into the swing of things. (aka the tonne of stuff I wrote as the core of this story years and years and... it was a while ago. But it's all (mostly) done!)

_Recap:_

Redcliffe has been saved from its nightly horrors, and the Circle Mages have been saved from Uldred's demonic rule (and from the Right of Annulment). Chasing rumors of the Sacred Ashes led the group to Denerim, where Bannon discovered the Alienage was closed due to Blight Plague and decimated by a purge called by the new arl, Howe. It also led them to aid Levi Dryden and his cousin to the ancient Grey Warden stronghold, Soldier's Peak, and secured them a dark ally in Avernus, who has spent decades studying the Taint. He may find a cure... or a way to better harness it. The Sacred Ashes were discovered in Haven, and retrieved to cure Arl Eamon of his poison-induced coma.

After a detour to find Shale the golem, and a detour to Ostagar to find evidence of Loghain's dissatisfaction with Cailen's rule, and a detour to assassinate Flemeth (which, in case you forgot, Bannon totally didn't do)... they finally found a Dalish clan in the Brecilian forest. Who were beset by werewolves and one huge spirit wolf. Of course.

The Wardens and finally the elves realized the curse had been in force for far too long. Zathrian removed the curse, released the spirit, and died... leaving his clan with a new Keeper, and a treaty to honor.

* * *

**Back to Business**

==#==

"It has been too long," Zevran said, sliding atop Bannon, propping himself on his arms to look down on him before lowering himself for a passionate kiss.

Bannon couldn't agree more, his mouth hungrily drinking in the Antivan, his hands roaming the sleek muscular planes of his body.

They entwined, the heat of passion rising.

Zevran lifted his upper torso, arching his spine, throwing his head back. His eyes flashed open, shining with cold grey light. His mouth dropped open, long needle fangs dripping. "_Join us!_" The assassin's hands, his whole arms, turned into black blades. They plunged for Bannon's heart.

With a terrified scream, he kicked out at his attacking covers, struggled with their clinging embrace. He nearly kicked Zevran, who had startled awake beside him, and lashed out in reflex.

"Wake up," the assassin complained sleepily.

Alistair shifted so he could get a hand on Bannon's arm. "Hey. You're fine."

No, Bannon was not fine. He had to deal with these Dalish before they could leave. Honor their new leader ceremony or somesuch. Then he'd wanted to continue eastward, past Dragon's Peak, and on to Denerim. But no, no one agreed with him.

"We need to travel to Orzammar," Leliana had said, laying out the map. "That is here, far west through these mountains."

"The pass is up here," Bannon said. "We can go to Denerim, pick up supplies, swing by Soldier's Peak and check on Avernus, then cross to the pass."

"That route is three times as long," Sten pointed out.

"And you're in a rush?"

"Delay is a sign of weakness."

"We can check on the status of our possible allies," Bannon insisted. At the brothel. Where he was pretty sure he could use his status as a Grey Warden to get himself a human whore. A woman! Why the hell did he keep dreaming about Zevran? Thinking about Zevran...

"I know you're worried about your family," Alistair said. "But... Loghain. He's there. His army is there. He might know we've already been there and have his men on higher alert."

Bannon rubbed his face. All right, there were brothels in Redcliffe, weren't there? It was closer, anyway. He had to do something!

==#==

The Wardens left the Dalish clan to gather themselves and prepare to move westward. The Wardens themselves headed back the way they had come. Bannon couldn't help but feel they were wasting time. A cloud hung over him while the others chatted and bantered.

Leliana dropped back beside the two elves. "How do you like being Dalish now?"

Bannon wondered at the point of her question. Did she expect them to say being a city elf was better? Their supposed heritage just a bunch of primitive throwbacks?

Zevran started up again with his story. "Did you know, I am actually half Dalish? My father was a Dalish woodcutter."

"Dalish woodcutter?" The bridge of Leliana's nose wrinkled delicately.

"_Si_. He fell in love with the beautiful enchantress that was my mother."

Leliana's lips pursed and she seemed about to ask more pointed questions, like how in the hell a 'Dalish woodcutter' even came across an Antiva City whore, so Bannon interrupted. "It's just an honorary membership in their clan. It doesn't mean anything."

"Are you not proud of your heritage?"

"I didn't say that. And what's your point, anyway?" he snapped at the bard.

"I'm sorry. I was only curious." She sulked a moment as everyone trod along the path. "I find the history of the Arlathan fascinating, though I think the human accounts are necessarily biased. Still, the Dalish do not like to share with outsiders."

"It seems a pity," Wynne said from behind them. "It might help preserve their history if they weren't so secretive about it."

"Perhaps," Zevran said, "they do not believe humans are the most trustworthy historians."

Leliana said, "If they could just put their prejudices aside. If everyone could," she amended, shooting a glare at Bannon, who hadn't meant to snort quite so loudly, "there would be fewer misunderstandings and hostility."

Then Wynne asked, "Will you return to spend more time with the Dalish, after the Blight?"

Bannon almost tripped on a loose stone. After the Blight? Maker, they had to survive the Blight first! Then he'd have to see to his family, to his people in the Alienage. He looked over at Zevran.

The Antivan's face was closed, his eyes introspective a few moments. When he glanced up he caught Bannon's eye. A false smile played over his mouth. "Ah well, who knows?" he said cheerfully. "We will all probably be dead by then!"

"Oh, thank goodness," said Alistair. He'd come to a halt at Wynne's question and had been standing on the edge of the path a bit stupefied. "Yes," he said, turning and recovering his stride. "Let's all die in the Blight. Hey, that's catchy! Leliana, can you make us a song called 'Let's all Die in the Blight'?"

"Alistair, don't be morbid."

"What, morbid? There are worse things."

Wynne narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you referring to becoming king?"

"Nope!" the Templar said loudly. "Not thinking about that at all. La la la-la-la," he sang over Wynne's attempt at instilling a sense of responsibility. "Let's all die in the Blight! Let's all DIE in the BLIGHT!"

The donkey pulling Bodhan's cart brayed in protest. Alistair went on singing merrily, even louder when the witch complained. Back near the dwarf's cart, the qunari muttered, "I wanted to learn about the great and legendary Grey Wardens. Not about mad people."

"Is that what this is called?" the golem remarked. "I find it rather amusing." He started humming the tune in basso counterpoint.

Sten only switched to muttering in qunlat.

==#==

(Song:)

Let's all Die in the Blight!

We're all Going to Die - Yes, that's Right!

We're looking for an ArchDemon to fight!

Think we'll survive? Well, we might!

Unless we All Die in the Blight!

La-la la la-la-la-la!

==#==

They made camp in the same clearing as before. Bannon thought wistfully back on the days and nights spent with Zevran, but it was stupid to think they' get another opportunity as golden as that one. Golden and silver, he thought, recalling the Antivan's skin under the moonlit waterfall. He closed his eyes and shivered. Fine, he couldn't wait until RedCliffe, and why should he? Zevran was right here. Mooning over Leliana. Dammit!

All right, the problem was simple. Bannon had given Zevran the brush-off several times; the assassin was probably under the impression that Bannon was bored with him, and moving on to something else. If only.

So.

He had to get Zevran back in his tent. Without appearing desperate. Without leaving himself open to rejection. For that, he needed the Antivan hot and panting. Aha! Hot, panting and bothered - Bannon knew just the thing!

==#==

"Dammit, Zevran!" Bannon backed off, turning his arm to see the damage done to the leather bracer.

"Please, that couldn't have hurt," the assassin scoffed.

"Never mind that, I don't want to have to start repairing this already. Or worse - pay to have it done."

"Why not? Surely you are flush with money by now."

Bannon shook his head and sheathed his swords. "I don't know when we'll find a good armorer."

"Well, we are heading to Orzammar, no? Dwarven smiths are reputed to be masters of weapon and armor craft."

"First, we don't know how long it will take us to get there, and second, dwarves make metal armor. I'd prefer not to clank around, thanks. Strip down." He began shucking his armor.

"Spar with no armor? My my, _mi patrone_, you are very brave. Or very stupid." Nevertheless, he complied.

"I'll be gentle," the thief mocked. He pulled his shirt over his head, stretching his long, lean, tanned torso. "Maybe I'll even use a stick." He walked to the edge of the clearing and bent over to retrieve a decently-sized fallen branch. When he walked back, Zevran was licking his lips appreciatively.

"If I hit you below the belt, will you take of your pants, too?" Zevran grinned.

"If you hit me below the belt, there won't be any reason to."

The Antivan pouted and Bannon struck, stabbing him straight in the chest with the blunt end of the stick. The assassin yelped and fell back, but recovered quickly. "You cheat!" He lashed out with his blades.

Bannon ducked, but instead of retreating, he stuck close, inside Zevran's guard. He thrashed the Antivan's pecs and ribs, even the undersides of his arms. He couldn't get a full force strike, but his aim wasn't to hurt the assassin, just to annoy him.

Judging by the Antivan curses, he was doing a good job.

Then, Zevran dropped his off-hand blade and punched Bannon in the head. The thief collapsed back in the dirt and the assassin leapt on him, blade across his throat.

"Hah," Zevran panted triumphantly.

Bannon's eyes widened, and for a second he looked shocked and afraid. Until he jabbed the Antivan in the bare armpit, making him drop the sword with a yowl. Luckily, the edge didn't hit Bannon as it fell.

Bannon pressed the attack, and Zevran dove for his other blade. The thief dogged him, striking at tender joints and ribs.

Zevran snatched up his sword and took a wild swing. "Stop poking me with your damned stick!"

Bannon ducked under and swatted the assassin's forearm. Zevran bit down on another cry and reached across to grab the stick. Bannon then seized the wrist of Zevran's sword arm, and stepped in, trying to wrest control from him. The assassin turned with him, also trying to gain leverage, and they ended up arms locked between their bodies, panting and pushing against each other.

"I have something better to poke you with," Bannon leered.

"Oh? Do tell."

The thief pushed against him, forcing a thigh between his legs. He bumped his hip against the assassin's. "I'll show you later, in my tent."

Zevran's pointed ears perked up. "If you wanted to get naked and sweaty with me, all you had to do was ask." He grinned toothily.

"I'll see you later, then." Bannon winked and disengaged from the assassin. He tossed the stick aside as he went to retrieve his gear.

Zevran seriously considered ambushing him, but... ah, better to save his energy for some real wrestling. He grinned to himself like the cat in the cream. _Oh yes, I am irresistible!_

Bannon glanced back as the assassin went to cool down before dinner, a sly smile on his own face. _Yeah, one more successful seduction!_

==_X_==


	23. Rejoin

**Rejoin**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: some  
Violence: mentioned  
Nudity: some  
Sex: not for lack of trying (m/f), implied (m/m)  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Okay, this bit with Redcliffe, I just made up. The rest has been sitting around for forever. Now I just need to sort the rest of the old stuff and slot them into place. Keep hoping!

_Recap:_

After leaving the Dalish, the Grey Warden group head to Redcliffe on their way onward to Orzammar.

* * *

**Rejoin**

==#==

_Party Banter: Antivan_

"Boney toes and rosy toes? What?" Bannon griped.

"No no no, my friend," Zevran replied. Then he let out a smooth trill of words: "_Caballitos bonitos rositos._"

Alistair dropped back a few steps. "What are you talking about?"

"I am teaching Bannon how to curse in Antivan."

"Caba-yeetoes, bo-neatoes, rose-eatoes."

Zevran sighed. "You Fereldens, always biting your words, chewing them like rocks. Antivan is a romantic language." He sighed again breathily and waxed poetic. "When you speak Antivan, you open your mouth, you breathe the words, you massage them gently with your lips and tongue, like [CONTENT DELETED BY MANAGEMENT]"

"Oh!" Alistair flinched bodily and grabbed his ears in self defense.

"You did _not_ just say that!" Bannon stared at him incredulously.

"What?" Zevran smirked. "You know how to do that, I'm sure."

Bannon just turned red.

Alistair quickly said, "All right, no more Antivan lessons! Can't you learn something less vulgar? Like learn Orlesian or something!"

Zevran's eyes lit up. "Ah! I _do_ know how to Orlesian-kiss! Shall we practice that?"

"Gah!"

==#==

"Bannon, come and sit with me a while and talk."

"Sure, Wynne. What do you want to talk about? Is everything all right?"

Wynne was concerned that Bannon had taken up with Zevran again. She'd thought he'd gotten out of that once he realized Zevran didn't love him, that it was just a meaningless fling, over and done with. She'd seen Bannon rebuff Zevran a few times back at the Dalish camp. Now it seemed the assassin had wormed his way back into Bannon's tent. Maybe she needed to give Zevran a talking to, but she doubted he'd be reasonable. He'd probably be contrary, knowing him.

Young men. Wynne sighed to herself. They were worse than girls. At least no matter how silly or giddy their romantic yearnings were, they rarely tried to turn them into reality.

"Are you feeling well?" Bannon asked her. "Do you need anything? If you do, just ask. Anything at all." Then he tilted his head. "Is everything okay with, eh..." He glanced above her, as if maybe he could see the spirit, like they had in the Fade.

He was a good boy at heart, an attentive leader when he wasn't distracted. "Yes, I'm fine," she assured him. "I'm back to full strength."

"Then what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Sit down," she said, gesturing to the clear patch at the front of her tent. "I'd like to tell you a story."

"A story?" Bannon dropped gracefully into a cross-legged seat on the ground. Wynne envied his young bones as she got comfortable on her camp stool. "It's not one of those romantic drivel things, is it?"

"Have you been snooping in my books?"

He affected wide-eyed innocence. "I saw them in a box when I was loading Bodhan's cart."

"Hmph. But anyway, no. I'm going to tell you a story about the Grey Wardens."

"Oh." His eyes glittered eagerly in the light of the lamp hanging from her tent pole. "Are there griffins?"

Wynne had her mouth open to start the tale, then had to backtrack. Honestly, weren't elves supposed to be older than they looked not fifteen years younger? "Once upon a time, in an Age long past, a Blight rose to devastate the land. THe darkspawn horde spread its taint like an inky bloodstain soaking into a map. The combined forces of the humans, elves, and dwarves gathered to make a final stand.

"Then the clouds parted, and the Grey Wardens flew down upon their majestic griffins. They landed and formed a line between the people of Thedas and the horde. Only one thin grey line, but through the fighting that day, not one soldier died."

She watched Bannon's face as he frowned in thought. Then he cocked a brow at her and said, "That's it?" He pursed his lips. "it doesn't have a lot of detail."

"Well, through the Ages, the extraneous details have worn away, leaving only the solid core."

"It doesn't sound very accurate, either. Who would ride into battle on a griffin and then get off when they actually had to fight?" before Wynne could answer, he added, "And zero soldiers died? THat can't be right."

"But the _point_, Bannon..."

He looked at her ingenuously.

She sighed. "The Grey Wardens may be few, but they stand between us and annihilation."

"Is this a subtle attempt at telling me you think I'm neglecting my Warden duties again?"

"It's just a parable, Bannon. You should think on it and take it to heart."

"Mm. All right. Thanks." He got up and brushed his leggings off. "If you need more books, I'm sure we can find something in Redcliffe."

==#==

There were scattered roving bands of darkspawn in the southern forest, though the actual horde seemed to have disappeared. Bannon worried the Blight was heading east and up towards Denerim. It seemed likely the capital would be their final objective.

Alistair assured him darkspawn weren't that organized or logical.

"You mean they're just as likely to turn around and go home? Forget the whole 'spreading the Blight across the land' thing?"

"We can hope?"

Yeah, Bannon wasn't going to put much faith in that one. At least the qunari and golem got to exercise their aggression before they hit Redcliffe. He was trying to figure out a strategy to keep those two out of the town, but he didn't think Morrigan would babysit them. After getting her to do all that work scouting out the Dalish, he'd need to butter her up a whole lot more.

In Lothering, some bandits had tried to set up in the Blighted town. The idiots contracted the Taint, and the Wardens had to spend some time there, putting them down. A few had their kids with them, none too young, fortunately. Bannon took Zevran, Morrigan, and Sten to finish them off.

So it was getting to be late afternoon before they pushed on into Redcliffe. Bannon wanted a huge lunch, a hot bath, and some mind-numbing sex, not necessarily in that order. Preferably all at once.

When they came to the Redcliffe overlook, they found guards stationed there. A pair of knights, and a few scouts with longbows.

"We're the-" Bannon started.

"Warden!" called an excited voice. One of the scouts came forward, a big grin on his face.

Bannon peered under the brim of the ugly helmet. "Anselm?"

"Guardsman Anselm at your service!" The young elf clapped a fist over his heart.

"Good, you can escort us to the castle."

"Yes, ser!"

"Hold it!" The shem knight in charge didn't like his scout and these strangers making decisions without him. Clearly, he hadn't been in the siege of Redcliffe, but the others brought him up to speed real quick. Bannon blowing up the horde of undead, Alistair's famous charge into the phantom ranks, Leliana's rallying song of faith, Morrigan's ice attacks, and Sten's single-handed holding of the bridge. The Sacred Ashes.

"Arl Eamon is expecting us," Bannon said impatiently.

With some bluster, the knight let them go on with Anselm, but not before he sent a runner ahead at least.

When they were out of earshot, Bannon looked to Anselm for the local gossip. "So what's been going on?"

"Well, the arl's gone and recalled all his knights that had been off questing for the Sacred Ashes. They've been pouring in. Bann Teagan has been put in charge of rebuilding Redcliffe's forces."

"Even elves?"

"The arl was against it at first, but I pressed the bann to join the guards, at least as an archer. It didn't hurt I was with you during the siege." Anselm's words tumbled out in an excited rush. "And they'd been desperate, so elves helped fight in the last battle. After there were so many casualties, well, it wasn't difficult to convince the bann to let elves enlist."

"Nice job, Anselm."

"Oh, well, it wasn't _me_, ser." The elf blushed.

There was more news Anselm was excited to tell them, about unrest in the Bannorn, troops amassing in the capital. "The worst of it is...," here, he lowered his voice, "Arl Eamon's spies discovered that Teyrn Cousland was murdered by his best friend - Arl Howe. Who Loghain then installed as the new arl of Denerim."

"What?" Alistair yelped.

"Aye, Howe's troops from Amaranthine were bivouacked at Castle Cousland, after the Cousland knights had headed for Ostagar. They sacked the castle. The teyrn's family was killed."

"Of course, he's in cahoots with Loghain, who put his best buddy in charge of the capital," Alistair growled.

"That explains who the new guy is," Bannon said darkly.

Zevran added, "That would be the rat-faced fellow who hired me."

"And who called the purge on the Alienage."

"Oh," said Alistair, "he's just all kinds of charming."

Bodhan turned off at the bridge gate, eager to share his news of the road and start trading. Bannon sent the qunari with him, putting Sten in charge of the golem. Surely, unnecessary squishing was against the Qun.

He also figured Morrigan wouldn't want to be bothered with shem politics, so he granted her some leave, with a few extra coins for her hard work in the Brecilian forest. She seemed relieved to escape the castle visit.

Bannon should have gone with her, or anyone else. That damned brat Connor was there. At Arl Eamon's prompting, the boy bowed to the Wardens and greeted them in a subdued voice.

After the Wardens ate, they escaped to their quarters with some time to wash up. Alistair was to meet back with Arl Eamon, and Bannon had been tasked with helping Bann Teagan with preparations for the arrival of the Dalish.

"Do I have to?" the former Templar whined, trying to get out of his meeting. "I barely escaped from him last time, and that was only because he was still sick in bed!"

Bannon said, "Just tell him you're going to Orzammar to meet the king and... be diplomatic. Make alliances. Learn politics."

"What, like lie?"

"How is that lying?"

Alistair pursed his lips. "Oh."

"Just stand up to him, Alistair."

"That's easy for you to say."

Oh, sure. Elves stood up to arls all the time. "You're a Grey Warden," Bannon reminded him. "He can't actually order you to do anything."

"Does he know that?"

"Just pretend to go along, and he won't argue."

Alistair took a deep breath. "All right. I'll try."

==#==

While Alistair dealt with Arl Eamon, Bannon, along with Zevran, went to work with Bann Teagan, to prepare a campsite for the Dalish. At first, it was practical questions - how much room would they need? How many mouths were there to feed? Did they require acreage for hunting grounds? Bannon made up answers as best he could guess from what he'd seen, then suggested Bann Teagan revisit the logistics with the Keeper and Dakorien.

"What important things should we know, in order to avoid offending them?" Teagan asked.

Bannon was a bit surprised. Well, the shems couldn't be too comfortable with dangerous wild elves coming to their door. "Don't even suggest they eat their white deer," he said. What else bugged the Dalish? Just about everything. He glanced at Zevran. The Antivan shrugged, coming to the same conclusion.

"Hmm," said the bann. "What about their tattoos? I've heard they kill people who ask about them."

Bannon turned up one hand. "Those are part of their religion, so unless the question is 'Hey, nice tattoo, where can I get one?' or 'Why did you put such ugly marks all over your face?' it should be all right."

Then Teagan put forward the suggestion of assigning some city elves as liaison to the Dalish. Bannon knew the Dalish had no respect for city elves, but... maybe it would help some if it wasn't shems dealing directly with them. "Anselm's pretty smart," he suggested.

"I know a young woman with good diplomatic skills," Teagan said. "Her name is Krysta." He took them to meet her.

Krysta was perfect, a svelte elven lass with sparkling blue eyes, and golden hair bound up in ropes of braids adorning her head like a crown. And when freed from those braids, her hair would be a rich, wavy cascade, just like Zevran had said, just like Zevran's braids wh- Bannon squelched that thought, trying not to let it show on his face. Maker, what was he thinking?

Look at her breasts. She had _breasts_. Small and elven and perfectly pert. Breasts and hips and smooth round buttocks, perfect for caressing and holding firmly in hand. And doing other things. Bannon felt a tightening heat in his groin.

Then he felt a stab of jealousy as Zevran swept up her hand with a corny bow to kiss her knuckles. "_Encantada_," he purred.

"You'll have to excuse my provincial friend," Bannon told her. "He's a foreigner."

"Oh?" said Krysta, eyes alight with interest. Dammit.

"Yes, from Antiva. They're rather backward, there."

"Are they?" Now she gave Zevran a more critical look, though not one without intrigue.

"Alas, yes, _carida_." Zevran lowered his lashes in a play to be shy and alluring. Was he stealing Bannon's moves? "They even have slavery there, still."

"That's terrible!"

"_Si_." Zevran was laying the accent on thick. "As an orphan, I was sold into slavery quite young." Now he was trying to pull off Bannon's big doe eyes.

"You poor thing."

"Luckily," Bannon cut in, "I rescued him from his fate, and now he is my loyal companion." He put a hand on Zevran's shoulder, the better to be able to make a quick grab to the scruff of his neck.

"Really?"

"It was dangerous, but worth it."

"How did you rescue him?"

Zevran started to open his mouth, so Bannon used his grip to shake him into silence. "I'm sure he doesn't want to relive that horribly painful and humiliating experience." Then, with a pleasant smile he said to the Antivan, "Zev, go find Bodhan and help guard his supplies."

"But, we're in town," Zevran protested.

"Where there are no bandits lying in ambush," Bannon squeezed Zevran's shoulder to emphasize this word, "foolish enough to attack in broad daylight..." This bit was accompanied by a meaningful glare. "but footpads and cutpurses lurk about the city streets, stealthily making your goods disappear, without you even realizing it. We wouldn't want to lose anything of value, _would we?_"

"Ahhh..." Zevran was getting the picture now. He slipped from Bannon's grasp and gave him a low Antivan bow. "Of course, _mi patrone!_ It is my pleasure to serve you." He glanced up under his lashes, a lustful gleam in his eyes as he massaged the words with his skillful Antivan tongue. Bannon felt the shiver of a struck chord in his spine.

With another flourish, Zevran bid a sighing farewell to Krysta and their company, and finally got lost.

"You'll have to excuse my companion," Bannon told Krysta as her eyes lingered on the departing elf. "he has been on the road and hasn't seen any women in a long time."

That put a frown line between her brows. She turned to him. "And you?"

How did she know he and Zevran...? Oh! She meant him and women! "Grey Wardens are made of sterner stuff," he answered with an alluring smile. Should he lay on Wynne's nonsense about his duty being more important than simple physical pleasures? No, he didn't want to seem inaccessible. "After suffering the rigors of the Joining, and bearing the heavy burden of command..." He sighed wearily, and hardly had to act at all. "One gains perspective," he finished, offering her his arm, which she was drawn to as if by magic. "I may carry the burden of saving the world, my dear Krysta, but I never lose sight of how important each and every person is."

He smiled warmly at her, and she responded in kind.

Bann Teagan pinched his lips closed and brushed a moment as his moustache. The elves glanced at him and self-consciously loosened up the space between them. "Let us visit your hahren, and see if he or anyone else has studied much of Dalish lore."

So they collected Anselm and went to the alienage of Redcliffe. It was past the docks, past an outcropping of the rocky terrain that backed the town. There was a narrow path that wound up and around the cliff face, overhanging the lake. At the top was a double gate, both swung wide open, and with no guard present.

Beyond that lay a flat spit of land, crowded with buildings of wood and stone, built up with higher stories to house more elven families. The apartments spread up the cliff face, some only accessible via ladders. The vhenadahl was a much skinnier tree than the one in Denerim, and it bent around some of the terraced buildings, some of its branches sawn off.

Teagan didn't seem nervous entering the alienage with only Bannon and Anselm as his guards. He made his way through the narrow streets to the hahren's domicile at the foot of the vhenadahl, and introduced Bannon to Isathan.

"There is a clan of Dalish on their way here," Teagan explained. "We are preparing to receive them in the fields south of Redcliffe. Krysta and Anselm here will be acting as liaison to the Dalish. I was wondering if there were any other of your people - you, yourself perhaps - who are well-versed in the lore of the Dalish."

The hahren only snorted and shut Teagan down. Though Teagan was unfailingly polite, it was clear Isathan did not like him. The net result was nothing, but at least the bann had made an effort.

They returned to the castle, Teagan and the Redcliffe elves to their duties, and Bannon to his companions. They all congregated in a comfortable receiving room before dinner.

Alistair had apparently escaped from Arl Eamon's clutches, and was even allowed to roam freely around the castle. When he espied Bannon, his face lit up. "Hey, it worked!" he told the elf. "I'm going to Orzammar!"

"Congratulations," Leliana said, with a dimpled smile of her own.

"My plans always work," Bannon said. Everyone just stared at him, doubt on their faces. "What? What plan of mine hasn't worked?"

Alistair said, "I wasn't aware you actually had any plans. I thought you just winged it all the time."

Bannon looked at the rest of the companions. Yeah, they all nodded.

"Didn't I plan our route to Orzammar?" he insisted.

"Actually," Leliana said, "we vetoed the route you wanted to take."

"Well, fine." Bannon washed his hands of the whole thing. "If this ends in disaster, you'll have only yourselves to blame."

==#==

After dinner, Bannon found an excuse to walk with Krysta. "So tell me," he said, moving conspiratorially closer, "how are things between the elves and humans here, really?"

"The humans of Redcliffe aren't so bad," she replied. "The arlessa always encouraged the promotion of elven artisans and craftsmanship.

Bannon wrinkled his nose slightly, remembering Isolde only as an insulated, screeching woman who doted on her son and failed to protect her people from mass death at the boy's hands. Not to mention the harpy who had persecuted Alistair.

"The arl was rather set in his way - the old ways," Krysta continued with an eyeroll. "But Bann Teagan is committed to giving elves more opportunities, more equality."

"I would like to hear more about these developments," he said, gently cupping her elbow as he faced her and looked into her sapphire eyes. "Would you join me in my suite?"

She flushed and lowered her lashes. "I would like that... but I have matters to attend to this night."

"Are you sure they can't wait?" Bannon added a pleading note to his voice, not a tone of desperation, but of longing. "We'll be leaving first thing tomorrow, and I don't know when we might return."

She smiled up at him. Then, "I'm sorry," she said. "Good night, Warden. Safe journeys."

Sorry!? Goodnight!?

She turned and left, and Bannon watched, thunderstruck. Oh, she'd better not have 'other plans' tonight in Zevran's room!

No, she left the guest wing and turned down the hall.

Dammit!

==#==

They left early the next morning, the sun chasing them from Redcliffe. Bannon had wanted to stay, stay inside the safe walls, the soft beds. Stay to pursue the elusive maidens. But walls and pillows were proving not to be as effective at soothing his nightmares as they once were.

He'd spent most of the night hunting down children in the alleys of Lothering, of the alienage. Stabbing them as they sprang on him like rats, jaws agape with needle teeth. They got smaller and smaller. He knocked down a toddler, stabbed its squirming body. He looked up to see his cousin Shianni, his father, watching with inestimable sadness in their eyes.

"I..." Bannon swallowed a thickness in his throat. "I..." How to explain.

They shuffled forward, tired, listless, their eyes accusing. Then their eyes went dead as well. Dead and grey. The stench of the Taint washed over him.

"No..."

He couldn't kill them. No!

"Bring them to me," growled a shadow of the mage Avernus. Avernus wouldn't kill them, no.

Then Bannon was standing in the stone laboratory of the withered old mage. Shianni and Cyrian were there, barely recognizable, naked husks. Shianni circled the stake her collar was chained to. Cyrian struggled weakly, shackled to a frame hanging over a basin.

When Bannon had dragged himself from the Fade, he rolled over, exhausted, and fell asleep again. Fell back into the dark alleyways, the dark hunt.

He put on a brave face in the morning, smiling and saying all the right things to Eamon, Teagan, Anselm and Krysta. Encouraging things. Cocksure things about how they would return with their dwarven allies, and end both the Blight and the Ferelden civil war.

Outside the walls, he could rest. Draw inside himself, avoid contact with his companions. He just wanted some peace. Evening drew near, and with it, the dreaded dark.

==#==

Zevran cocked an eyebrow as his patron approached him. "Would you," Bannon asked with the slightest hesitation, "care to join me in my tent tonight?"

"Again?" Zevran smiled broadly in eager anticipation. "What _will_ people think?"

"They'll think you're _really_ good," Bannon answered with a smile. He let the assassin kiss him, then he turned towards his tent. He sighed and added, "Or maybe they'll just think I'm pathetic." Head lowered, he ducked inside.

Zevran frowned and followed him. "What, 'pathetic'?" he insisted. "Who thinks so?"

Bannon pulled off his shirt. "It doesn't matter."

Zevran folded his arms. "If you are unhappy with our arrangement -" he said firmly.

"Please," said Bannon closing his eyes and gripped the other elf's arms. "Please, Zevran..." He took a breath and looked into his eyes. "Just make everything go away again," he asked quietly, desperately. "Please?"

Zevran's expression softened. He caressed Bannon's hair. "Of course, my beloved _patrone_. This I can do for you."

Bannon closed his eyes and sighed, then surrendered himself to the assassin's embrace.

==_X_==

* * *

_End Notes:_

I didn't know what to title this conglomerate mess... one ploy was to use the first and last words, so this ALMOST was entitled "Boney Embrace." :X


	24. Life's Most Embarrassing Moments

**Life's Most Embarrassing Moments**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: no  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

Now we get into the quintissential core of the Bannon and Zevran relationship. Or the early version of it. Those of you who have seen snippets and prompts over on the Bioware boards should be familiar with this dynamic. Those who have seen Bannon and his Zevran over on the forums will be used to them from the latter version of it, which will evolve over... ::cough:: a long time. Actually, I think it's less than a year, game/world time.

Anyway! Here's where the fun begins! And at long last, after years, these scenes can see the light of day!

* * *

**Life's Most Embarrassing Moments**

==#==

_Party Banter: More Antivan_

"_Cabayitos bonitos rositos!_" Bannon cursed suddenly.

"Ah, _bene!_" Zevran applauded.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Alistair put in.

"It is a terrible Antivan curse!" the assassin assured him.

"Yeah," said Bannon, "But it must translate into something."

"No no no, my friends. I cannot tell you. The very words would flay the ears from your heads! Were you to scream such imprecations at a full-grown Antivan man, he would surely crumple to the floor, helpless." Zevran snickered to himself - the poor man would be laughing hysterically. Of course, he didn't mention that part.

"You seem particularly immune," Alistair mused thoughtfully.

"Well, of course!" Zevran puffed up indignantly. "I am an Antivan Crow. We are trained most brutally, and are far too tough to be felled by such mere words."

Bannon gave him a suspicious look.

"I assure you!"

Alistair decided to try. "Caba... how's that go again?"

Zevran gladly darted to his side to teach him.

==#==

Alistair turned from the campfire and walked over to the side tents. He looked down at the two elves sitting there. "What _are_ you two laughing at?"

They laughed at him, and then Zevran said, "We are telling embarrassing stories."

"And you're drunk?" They nodded. "You've been hoarding all the liquor?"

"You can join us if you want," said Bannon.

"I'm sure you have a great many embarrassing stories to tell about yourself," Zevran added, giggling.

"Oh gee, _that_ sounds fun." Alistair lingered, however, eyeing the satchel full of bottles between the two elves.

"What sounds fun?" Leliana called from over by the fire.

Bannon grinned, scooped up the satchel and rose. With a friendly arm around the shoulders, he steered Alistair back to the campfire. To Leliana, he said, "Alistair was just about to regale us with a story about something embarrassing he did."

"Hang on," said Alistair. "I don't recall agreeing to do anything of the sort."

Not about to let the booze get out of sight, Zevran scrambled to his feet and followed. "You'll agree if you want us to share a drink with you. That's the rules."

"Oh now this does sound fun," said Leliana. "Somewhat like some of the games we played in Orlais, at the, um... less reputable parties. Count me in!"

Bannon pulled a bottle of wine from the satchel and handed it to her. He called out and waved Morrigan over as well. Zevran somehow charmed Wynne into joining them. Mugs were dug out and Leliana portioned out wine to her human companions.

"Are you giving Alistair his share before he reveals the full depth and breadth of his embarrassment?" Zevran griped.

"He won't tell us until after he's drunk," Bannon explained.

"Ah. Good point."

Sten strode over to the group, followed shortly by Shale. The qunari frowned down at them and said, "If you are going to become drunken and rowdy, I will keep watch... some distance away."

Bannon nodded. "Thank you, Sten. Here..." He pulled out another bottle of wine. "You can take this."

"Thank you, but I should not drink on watch."

The elf waved it off. "It's for later, so we don't drink it before you get to it. Oh, wait..." He went to the storage chest and pulled out a small packet. He gave it to the qunari with the bottle and a wink. "This you can have on watch."

Sten's left eyebrow twitched once. Maybe. "Many thanks," he said, taking the gifts.

Alistair looked around after him, then back at Bannon. "Is it just me, or does he seem actually relatively friendly when he talks to you?"

Bannon shrugged. "You just need to know how to talk to him."

"Really? Because I can't get him to string more than three words together."

"Well, you know how it seems like he's trying to give you the cold shoulder and get you to stop talking to him?" Alistair nodded. "You just ignore that and keep talking normally. It's just how he is."

"And what is it you are giving him?"

"Cake."

"Cake?"

The elf shrugged. "Apparently, they don't have sweets in um... qunaria or wherever he's from."

While the former Templar contemplated that, Zevran eyed Shale. "And are you going to go on patrol as well, golem?"

"I thought I would stay and watch the weak squishy ones make fools of themselves," Shale replied.

"And how much do you drink?" Protectively, Zevran cradled his bottle.

"I do not drink anything."

Bannon smacked Zevran and snatched the bottle from him. "Unlike you. Stop hogging it all!"

Shale mused, "Perhaps the Painted Elf will pass out, and I can squish its head while it lies there helpless."

"Charming. You had this follow you home? It couldn't be a dog?"

Bannon shrugged. "Don't like dogs." He took a pull from the bottle.

"A cat? A badger? A little bird?," the assassin insisted. "Perhaps a trained monkey would have been more helpful."

"What," said Morrigan, "Isn't Alistair doing his job?"

"Hey!" yelped Alistair as they all laughed. "You can forget me going first. I vote Morrigan tell her most embarrassing story first."

"Wait, wait," interjected Zevran. "Bannon was not finished telling me this first story." He grabbed the bottle back out of the other elf's hands. "Since you need to talk, I will hold this for you. Now... you and your friend were going to visit the market...?"

"Right, you remember the gate in Denerim, closing off the alienage from the market? Well, we were small, we thought we could fit through the bars, so we planned to sneak out at first light. Danis managed to get his head through, but then he got stuck. He was stuck there for six hours!" The inebriated elf and his partner started snickering.

"Six hours?" said Leliana. "Didn't you go and get help?"

"What? no! He was stuck in the gate, and I couldn't leave him there alone and defenseless. The other kids wanted to take free kicks at his backside."

Alistair laughed. "He must not have been too popular!"

"Well, it was an opportunity to take advantage of someone." Bannon shrugged. "Anyway, I wouldn't let them kick him without paying 2 copper, first." Deftly, he rescued the bottle from the Antivan, who almost fell over laughing.

Morrigan said, "This was your friend?"

"Ah, well... maybe not so much after that?" Bannon giggled. "But I made over twenty coppers!"

Leliana laughed. "Boys will be boys."

"The gate guard came down; it was time to open the gates for the morning. Well, they couldn't raise the gate, because there was this elf child stuck in it! He didn't know what to do; he had to go find the commander. Meanwhile, the people who wanted to get to the market, or had to go to work in the city, they were all lined up inside the gate, milling around.

"So the guards and the captain come back, and we still hadn't gotten Danis out of the gate. His mother was there, frantic, she kept yelling at them to cut through the bars. Well they weren't about to do that; it'd cost too much to replace! So then one of them suggested cutting off his ears - you should have heard his mother screech!" He tipped the bottle to his lips, but almost spilled it for laughing, so he handed it back to Zevran. "Finally, they convinced the arl to let the workers out through his back gate, or else nobody's windows would get washed that day, and a lot of rich humans would have their dirty laundry piled up. And then hahren came back from the market with some pig fat from the butcher, and he greased up Danis's head, and finally they got him out."

Everyone laughed and drank. Alistair said, "And I bet he never lived that one down."

"The name 'fat-head' did sort of stick," Bannon admitted.

Zevran raised his bottle. "I'll drink to that! now who is the next victim? Alistair?"

"Not that drunk yet."

"I am going to bet seven gold pieces that your embarrassing story is centered about an unfortunate urinary accident."

Leliana and Morrigan collapsed against each other in laughter. Alistair glared daggers at the assassin. "All right," he said, "just to shut you up, i'll tell mine now."

Zevran grinned evilly. Bannon wrestled the bottle away from him. "Give me that before _you_ have an 'unfortunate urinary accident.'"

Alistair took a long draught from his mug. "All right, this was back a ways, when I was seven or eight... as you know, I was living with my mother in the servants' quarters of Arl Eamon's estate. Well, this one day, the cook made three very large pies. I think the king was coming to visit, or some sort of large, important party.

"Anyway, I wasn't allowed to even _look_ at those pies, but I could smell them all through the lower levels. And I figured, hey, there's three, right? How many pies can a king eat, anyhow? So I crept up to the window where they were cooling, and I snatched one off the sill.

"Unfortunately, just at that moment, Teagan was coming around the corner to feed the dogs. He saw me and yelled, and I panicked and started running. But he was standing right in the garden gate, so the only way out was past him. I managed to dodge, but I knocked him on his arse, and spilled the dogmeat on him. Then, of course, the mabari all jumped him and started licking..."

He took a moment to collect himself and wet his lips. "Now he was really yelling and screaming, and the guards thought something terrible was happening."

Wynne put a hand over her face. "Oh Alistair, not the guards?" She laughed.

"Yes! So here's little Alistair running pell-mell for the gate, with a contingent of castle guards on his tail. I could have escaped, too - I made it all the way across the bridge and started running down to the town... But it had rained the night before, and I was going way too fast... So I tripped and fell face-first into the mud - or rather, I would have, except I was carrying this really large pie in my arms. So it was face-first into the pie, and then I slid halfway down the hill in the mud."

Here, he had to pause until everyone could catch their breath. "The arl was furious. Not as furious as my mother, however. I was covered in mud - and blueberry - and my clothes were ruined."

"So what did she do to you?" Morrigan asked.

"Ah, well..." He reddened a bit. "i got a sound spanking and sent to bed without any supper. and _no_ desserts for a week!" He started to tip his mug back, but noticed it was empty, so he held it out for Leliana to fill again. "Speaking of dessert... Bannon, you have any more of those cakes left?"

The elf chuckled and shook his head ruefully, then brought out cakes for those who wanted some.

Meanwhile, Alistair said, "All right, that's my story, now I think it's Morrigan's turn."

To which she replied haughtily, "I do not have any embarrassing stories to tell. not of myself, at any rate. I _do_ know a lot of stories about incompetent Templars, if you would find those amusing." Alistair only growled in return.

Zevran filched another bottle out of the stash while Bannon was busy. He pulled the cork and took a swig. "What about you, my dear Wynne?"

The mage sipped her wine. "Oh, no. I am waiting until you are all so inebriated that you can't understand a word I'm saying, and certainly won't remember anything about it!"

"Oh ho! Then it _must_ be a good one!"

"I will go next," Leliana said, serving both Alistair and Morrigan more wine. "When I was a little girl, my mother was in service to a fine noblewoman. I, myself, always daydreamed what it would be like to live such a fine life, as perhaps a princess or a duchess.

"One day, I crept into my lady's room when she was out. I climbed up on the padded seat to the vanity, and got into her makeup cabinet. She had the most exquisite powders and perfumes; naturally, I had to sample them all." She grinned. "i do not think the scents were made to blend together. And, of course, I had to put on the lip paints, which is a lot harder to do properly than it looks. And she had just so many shades of eyeshadow... I could not decide upon one, so I began putting on each in turn, and created a rainbow serpentine line over each eye and trailing down the sides of my face." She chuckled at herself. "Of course, nowadays I know that it is the barest hint that is the most effective - but the young are prone to excesses, yes?

"Now looking in the mirror, I thought it was all very fine, except my lady had dark hair, and her colours did not mesh well with my own. So then I took it into my head that I should try to recolour my hair. But the only thing I knew that might accomplish this was writing ink. Unfortunately, my lady also had a complete writing desk, for she was fond of sending letters to her friends and family back in Orlais.

"So when my mother came looking for me at luncheon, she found a hideous monster with huge red mouth and a black, wet mop on its head; smelling like a bordello parlour - no offense, Zevran."

"None taken, my sweet."

"I had ink all over me. At first I had tried pouring it on my hair, but it ran down my neck and soaked my dress collar. Then I tried massaging it in with my hands. This worked marginally better, but my hands were stained black, and I had tried to wipe them on my apron..." She shook her head. "I was a true mess. My mother dunked me in a tub while she worked furiously to get the ink spots out of the carpet. I scrubbed and scrubbed at my hands; they came mostly clean, but my hair was ruined. I used to have long, luxuriant hair that my mother liked to braid up in different patterns on special occasions. Now she had to cut it all off. I was so embarrassed, I had nothing but a little fuzz to cover my head. It took weeks for it to grow back to a decent length."

"Did you get in trouble?" Alistair asked her.

Leliana shook her head. "My mother cleaned everything and put my lady's chambers back aright, so she never knew I had been in them. But my mother... yes, she was very disappointed with me. However, she felt having my head shorn was more than enough punishment for that incident." Unconsciously, she touched her hair.

Bannon tipped his bottle back, drinking almost the last of his wine. He turned to Zevran who, to his surprise, was also taking a big swig off a bottle. "Where did you get that?"

"What?" said the Antivan innocently. "This is mine. That is yours." Bannon frowned suspiciously. "And don't ask me again why mine is bigger than yours. I thought I explained that already."

The sound of choked coughing came from Wynne's direction. The other humans stifled their own laughter. Shale just watched, one stone brow raised.

Bannon shook his head. He polished off his own bottle and set it aside. Then he tried to wrest the other away from Zevran. "It's your turn; hand that over. I'll hold it, since it's your turn to talk."

"I can talk and drink at the same time. I am very talented! besides, is it not your turn?"

"I went already!"

Zevran wagged a finger. "No no no, this has to be a story where you, yourself are embarrassed. Not your friend."

Morrigan said, indicating Zevran, "Are we really sure we want to hear what _that_ elf would find embarrassing?"

Wynne said, "Considering how little he talks about his past, this might be our only opportunity to find out anything at all."

Zevran said, "Oh, I see your game now! You are very clever. But as you know, with age comes wisdom."

"Yes, they're going to get you drunk and take advantage of you, so hand over the bottle." Bannon managed to secure it while Zevran daydreamed about being taken advantage of.

"Hey!" he said, about two minutes too late. "Ah well, all right. So when I was six years old, I worked in the... what did you call it? Bordello parlour - serving tea and running messages and the like. One day, to my great chagrin, I happened to mistake a hideously ugly woman for a man. A rather plain-looking man, but hideous for a woman."

Alistair interrupted. "This sounds bad already!"

Morrigan said, "No, wait... this could get interesting."

Zevran continued. "Well, she told me right away what she wanted, but it was couched in such innuendo and vague hints that I completely misinterpreted it, due to this first mistake I made. So then naturally, I fetched for her the completely wrong whore."

Alistair put his face in one hand, but was laughing despite himself.

"In my defense, the fellow I fetched for her did not notice she was not a man until some time later, when he made an anatomically inappropriate offer."

"Great Maker, no details, please!" said Wynne.

Zevran grinned. "Ah, yes, well... At this point, all hell broke loose, and one mightily ugly woman was determined to take revenge upon the entire bordello. But, the fellow convinced her that there was only one person to blame, for playing a cruel joke on her - that person being me, of course."

Leliana frowned. "What did you do?"

"Well, I ran like hell! But... that was really a bad idea. If they had turned me over to her right then and there, she might have just had me whipped or something. Instead, she returned later and demanded to take me away to be punished. And without paying!" He prodded Bannon for the bottle, and Bannon gave it to him.

Wynne asked, "They gave you to her?"

Zevran shrugged. "A wealthy human woman versus a bunch of elven whores? What were they to do?" He took a long pull from the bottle. "So... she gave me to her brother-in-law, who forced me to perform services for his friends at a gentlemen's party - to teach me once and for all the difference between men and women."

"Serv-?" Wynne's face crumpled in horror. "You were only six years old!"

Leliana gasped. "Zevran, that's horrid!"

"Ah, perhaps." He shrugged it off casually. "But it brought me good fortune. One of the gentlemen was apparently with the Crows, or at least an associate of theirs. It wasn't long after that when they made an offer to buy me from my mother. And - as I believe I have mentioned - they paid quite an exorbitant sum for me!" He grinned and then laughed.

He elbowed Bannon in the ribs, then offered him the bottle. "This is your last drink, then it is time for you to be thoroughly embarrassed."

Bannon giggled drunkenly, and took it. Zevran had to make two grabs to get it back after he was done. "All right, when I was four, I got a job as a chimney sweep. And on my first day... I went down this chimney, scrubbing it out... and ended up in the drawing room of this wealthy human house. I thought I had it made! I crept around... they were busy getting ready for some dinner party. So I came to this cabinet full of crystal. I couldn't reach any of the good stuff, but there were these little glass figures on the bottom shelf. I grabbed some kind of princess in a dress. The perfect crime!" He started giggling. "Of course I failed to realize I was covered in soot, and when I turned around, there was a whole trail of black footprints and handprints where I'd been!" He collapsed, laughing, against Zevran. "Then the whoever-it-was's daughter came in, and she started screaming about how I was stealing her precious ice princess... and I was like, 'no, I'm not!'"

Zevran said, "While you were caught red-handed?" He roared in laughter.

"Black-handed, more like!" Tears started running down Bannon's face. "So the woman comes in, and there's her lovely child wrestling with a little blackened elf, and getting her dress all mussed. Well, she starts hitting me with a broom! And every WHUMP! WHUMP! more soot flies off me. And she's screaming how I'm a dirty little thief, _and_ she's yelling at me for getting soot all over her carpet!" He had to pause to catch his breath.

"Then her husband gets there, and he takes charge. He grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me outside, where I can't make any more mess. Then he takes his belt and starts beating me." Both he and Zevran fell to more giggling. "Well, I'm still covered in soot, so I'm like crying and screaming and wriggling, and making sure to get a _lot_ of it all over his fine fancy clothes!" He laughed so hard, his face turned red. "They made sure I couldn't get a job for years after that... but I really ruined their dinner party!"

The two elves wound down their drunken laughter, slowly. Alistair and the others' humor had already fallen a few notches at some of the more violent parts of the tale. Bannon reached for the bottle, and Zevran relinquished it. The city elf took a long drink, then coughed, unable to fully curtail his laughter. Then he said, "It was a long time before I was as good a thief as my mother." He gave a wistful chuckle.

Alistair looked at him. "You're a thief?"

The two elves looked back at him for a minute. Then they collapsed into gales of laughter again. "What did you think," Bannon crowed, "I was just a murderer?" He doubled over laughing.

Zevran giggled hysterically. But quickly, he caught his breath, and his eyes widened. Bannon's laughter petered out in the dead silence from everyone else.

"You murdered someone?" Alistair asked incredulously.

Bannon's eyes darted around. He snorted. "No! Of course not."

Alistair stared at him a few minutes. "Wait... you're from Denerim. That riot in the alienage the guard was talking about... The murder of the arl's son - that was you!?" Bannon seemed at a loss for words. Alistair got to his feet. "You murdered Vaughn Kendell!"

"Don't you defend that piece of shit!" Bannon growled, lurching to his feet as well.

Morrigan and Leliana stood, backing away and moving to help Wynne up. Only Zevran remained seated, leaning back as if he didn't care one whit about what was going on. He watched Alistair with hooded eyes, however.

"Arl Urien was one of Eamon's greatest allies! He died at Ostagar; he was a hero!" Alistair yelled. "And you killed his son! I can't believe Duncan recruited a murderer!"

"I didn't 'murder' anybody!" Bannon shouted back. "All those men died standing up, with weapons in their hands, and their clothes on! Which is more than I can say about the women they took! They took my fiancee'! They raped my cousin!"

Alistair took a half step back, eyes widening.

Bannon looked around at him, and at the others hovering nearby, all watching with wide eyes. His lip curled in a snarl. He turned and shoved the wine bottle back into Zevran's hand. "Fucking shems!" He stalked off.

"Bannon!" called Wynne.

He didn't reply but they heard him growl out, "Expect me to save their damned asses."

Wynne looked helplessly at Alistair. The Templar only held his hands out in defeat; he didn't know what to say. Or even what to think.

Morrigan said to Zevran, "Go after him."

"Me?" The assassin nonchalantly swirled the wine around in its bottle.

"Yes, you," Morrigan snapped. "You're supposed to be his closest friend!"

"Pah. What is it you are expecting me to say to him?" He looked up at her, and the rest. "He's right." Smoothly, he got to his feet. "Look at you. You do expect him to save your damned asses. Why? Because he is an elf-"

"Because he is a Grey Warden," Wynne cut in.

Zevran sneered. "Because he is an elf, and that's the job you gave him. 'Save the country, Bannon.' 'Defeat the Blight, Bannon.' 'Do your duty,' you say. Not one thought is he to give to himself, oh no. Because of course, you do not care about that.

"Now you are going to bitch, because he killed some of your precious humans? Hah! That is to laugh." He turned to Alistair. "Look at you, a Knight Templar. A keeper of mages, trained to hunt them down and kill them whenever they become inconvenient." Alistair looked at his feet. Zevran turned to the others. "And Morrigan, luring people to their doom in your Wilds. Probably devouring them for all I know. And a bard from Orlais? Heh. We all know what _that_ means." Leliana wrapped her arms around herself uncomfortably.

Now Zevran turned and moved towards Wynne. Warily, she eyed him back. "And you, dear sweet lady. Now I see why my beloved _patrone_ sees fit to give you his respect. Now I give you mine, as well." He held the wine bottle in his left hand, tucked behind his back. He gave Wynne a full courtly bow, his right hand over his heart. Before rising, his hand darted out and caught hers. He kissed her knuckles chastely. Then he looked up into her eyes. "Or, it is perhaps that you hide your hypocrisy with much greater skill. In which case, I am even more in awe." He turned on his heel and headed towards his tent.

Wynne looked again at Alistair, this time with more desperation. The Templar slumped. "I'll try," he said, and headed in the direction Bannon had taken. As for Wynne, she trailed after Zevran.

==#==

He took a right turn before his tent and Wynne caught up to him further from the camp. "Zevran."

He stopped and turned to her. "Yes, dear lady?"

"Won't you just talk to Bannon?"

"He knows where to find me." The Antivan turned away.

"_I_ want to talk to you," the mage told him firmly.

With an exasperated sigh he looked back at her. "This is not a good time. I am very tired. I am quite drunk. And I have to take a piss. Despite your perverted thoughts about me, having an audience for that is not one of the deviant behaviors I enjoy. So it will have to wait!" He continued into the bushes, leaving her to fume and turn back.

==#==

Alistair moved carefully through the brush at the edge of camp until he saw Bannon. The elf was sitting at the edge of a clear space, his knees drawn halfway up and elbows resting on them. He leaned his forehead on his interlaced hands. He didn't answer, nor even bother to look up when Alistair said his name. Alistair stepped closer. "Look," he said awkwardly, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Uum..." Alistair let out a tense breath. "I'm not sure, really. I just don't know what else to say."

Somewhere in the night, a lonely cricket gamely started playing its song. Finally, Bannon said, "You don't have to say anything."

"No, I do." Alistair shifted his weight uncomfortably, then sat on the ground nearby. "I came off sounding really judgemental back there. Actually... I was." The elf looked over at him, his eyes still in shadow. Alistair said, "Bannon, you've done a hell of a job, getting us this far. I don't think I- no, I _know_ I couldn't have made it on my own. I would have probably collapsed into a gibbering heap somewhere between Lothering and the mage tower, if I hadn't had someone confident to follow, to keep things in perspective." He looked at his hands, gripping one within the other uncomfortably. "I came off as a complete ass and i'm sorry about that. I had no right."

Bannon shrugged and lowered his head again.

"No, really. Listen... I might not have had silk sheets and goose down pillows when I was growing up, but compared to what you lived through..." He shrugged. "I guess i'm just another privileged human. I never realized..." He trailed off awkwardly.

"Anyway," he said, picking up his straying thoughts, "You're a Grey Warden now, and a damned good one. What you did before doesn't matter. It's... Actually, Duncan mentioned to me once that he had been a thief, in his past. I never got to ask him about that." Alistair sighed heavily. "But... won't you tell me what happened with Vaughn?"

Bannon scrubbed his eyes with his hands. Wearily, he let out a breath. "You saw the gate to the Alienage. There's another gate, a back gate that isn't often used. It connects to the Arl of Denerim's estate. Vaughn treated the Alienage as the estate's sheep pen, where he could come whenever he wanted some sport or entertainment. Ever since he was a teenager... He'd set dogs on us, or take things away from people. Not that he needed our meager goods; just to deprive us of them. If we ever tried to fight back... Well, his father's guards put an end to that right quick."

"But did Arl Urien know about his son's, eh, pastime?"

"Don't be naive, Alistair. Denerim was the arl's responsibility; and the alienage may be right in the middle of the city, but it is not part of it." Bannon closed his eyes and pressed his palms together, gathering his thoughts a moment. "The incident in question... I was to be married. oh, not that I really wanted to be - it was arranged by my father. My cousin Soris and I both had our fiancee's arrive at the same time. Vaughn showed up with some of his friends and started... picking out the 'elven whores' he wanted. My other cousin, Shianni; she grabbed a bottle and clocked him over the head, knocking him out cold."

Alistair gave an approving chuckle and smiled, but Bannon did not return it. He lowered his head. "Vaughn returned later, with armed guards. He came to the marriage ceremony; he took both the brides and the other maids. He made especially sure to take Shianni." Bannon rubbed his face. "I tried to stop him, but he decked me. We weren't even armed. There was nothing we could do; the guards wouldn't have hesitated to kill us on his orders."

"So you went and killed that bastard? If I had been there, I would have helped."

Bannon nodded. "Soris and I went; Duncan loaned us some of his weapons."

"He didn't go with you?"

The elf shook his head. "That would have been a real mess. Get the Grey Wardens exiled from Ferelden again."

"I see what you mean."

"Anyway, we... we were too late. Nola tried to fight them; she was dead. The others..." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. "And Shianni... they hurt her so bad." He put a hand over his face. "She always used to be so damned cheerful. No matter what happened, she was always sure things would brighten up. She never let the dirt of the alienage dull her spirit. But Vaughn broke her."

Alistair clenched his jaw. Quietly, he said, "I hope when you killed him, you twisted the blade."

The elf raised his head, took a long, steadying breath. He blinked back tears. "We couldn't get away with it, of course. The guards came down on us not half an hour later. Duncan pulled me from their grasp with the Right of Conscription, but he let them have Soris. 'This isn't charity,' he said." Bannon's mouth twisted in bitterness. "There wasn't any riot before I left, Alistair. They took Soris to Fort Drakon to await execution. I think... - I couldn't find out anything in Denerim; I couldn't get into the alienage - I think they did execute him. When Loghain and his men returned, that arl he put in charge..." His hands shook.

"You don't know that for certain," Alistair said.

"No. No, I don't." Bannon swallowed, steadying his nerves. "And there's nothing I can do. I'm stuck way out here."

"I'm sorry," Alistair said again.

Bannon heaved himself to his feet. "I told you, you don't have to be sorry. It's just the way things are."

==_X_==


	25. Blondes, Brunettes, or Redheads

**On the Road to Orzammar: Blondes, Brunettes, or Redheads**

_CONTENT:  
_Rating: Mature  
Flavor: Adventure/Drama  
Language: yes  
Violence: no  
Nudity: no  
Sex: discussed  
Other: none

_Author's Notes:_

The following chapters/scenes take place in the nebulous region of the road to Orzammar.

Finally! Bannon &amp; Zevran's "DA Couples Meme" #4 explained! (Yes, still an IOU on elves in drag...!)

* * *

**Blondes, Brunettes, or Redheads  
==#==**

"Oh, hey, Wynne." Bannon came to her seat with his fellow Grey Warden in tow. "Alistair wants to hear the story about the Grey wardens."

"And the griffins!"

Wynne sighed.

"I want to hear, too," Zevran added, tagging along.

The three of them sat on the ground at her feet, looking up eagerly like little kids. "Honestly," she griped.

Bannon said, "And make it good this time."

"Fine. Once upon a time, there were..." She glanced at each of them. "Three Grey Wardens. A brave knight, a skilled warrior, and a dashing young commander."

"Oh ho," exclaimed Zevran. "I know which one I am!"

"They flew into battle on their mighty white griffins."

"White?" Bannon pursed his lips. "I thought griffins were brown."

Alistair said, "The Grey Warden symbol is a white griffin."

"Well, that's just a symbol," Bannon argued. "And I thought it was grey. Because, you know - Grey Wardens."

"Brown is boring," Zevran said. "And white, well, that's one way to attract an enemy's attention. Couldn't they have black griffins?"

With a hardly-suppressed sigh, Wynne continued. "Each had his own griffin - a noble white steed, a golden brown griffin of fierce demeanor, and a sleek, sexy black griffin."

"Awesome!" said Alistair, and Zevran agreed, nearly bouncing in his seat.

"These brave and clever Grey Wardens had many, many adventures together, some dangerous, some humorous, some heart-wrenching. But they always stuck together, and together they triumphed."

"They are ridiculously awesome!"

"Indeed. One day, the last battle commenced. The combined armies of Thedas stood against the vast darkspawn horde. Our three intrepid heroes flew down out of the sun like heralds of the Maker. They circled the armies to rally the people's spirits, then dove on the horde, whittling down their numbers with daring strikes." She started to get into her narrative, gesturing grandly with her hands. The boys watched and listened, enraptured.

"When the griffins tired, the Wardens dismounted and stood defiantly between the Blighted horde and the soldiers of Thedas. With sword, shield, and bow they stood, outnumbered a hundred to one, but defiant. They fought valiantly, no matter how many times the darkspawn attacked. The Grey Wardens prevailed, and no soldier died that day." She smiled, rather proud of herself.

Zevran frowned. "No soldiers died? At all?"

"The Grey Wardens protected them."

"That is rather stupid, no? Why have an army, if only three people are going to fight?"

Wynne lowered her face into her hand. Didn't they understand the point? The message she was trying to convey?

"It was better than last time," Bannon assured her. "You just need to work on the logistics a bit more."

"Tell us another story, Wynne," Alistair pleaded. "Pleeeeeeease?"

How could a fully-grown man look so much like a little puppy? Wynne sighed in defeat. "If you want another story from me, I will have to read to you from my book."

At once, Bannon said, "Ugh! Not Tess of Tevinter," while Zevran said, "A racy, saucy tale of bodice-ripping bosoms?" and Alistair only asked, "What book?"

He quickly changed his tune to "Wait, what?" as he looked at his cohorts.

"No!" Wynne insisted. "No, and Zevran, stay out of my things!"

The assassin only shrugged in an attempt at innocence. Bannon thwapped him upside the head. "Yeah, stay out of her things!"

"I was only idly glancing while you-"

Thwap!

"Ow!"

==#==

Much later...

"Okay, so..." Zevran took a swig from the bottle. "Morrigan or Leliana?"

"Leliana."

"Oh, really?" Zevran pondered this. "I rather prefer Morrigan."

"Because you like to live dangerously," Bannon told him, trying to get the bottle away from him.

"No, but seriously." Just to torment him, Zevran took another long drink. "That long neck, those golden eyes - very exotic! And when she lets down her hair..."

Bannon liberated the bottle as the other elf went all dreamy-eyed. "You've never seen her with her hair down."

"No, but I can imagine. There is something about a woman who wears her hair up all the time... and then when she lets it loose, wild and free..." Zevran sighed. "It is a truly magical moment."

"I didn't know you were such a romantic."

Zevran looked shocked. "Do I not behave romantically all the time? Do I not know an entire tome of romantic poetry? Shall I demonstrate some?"

"Maker's Mercy, no!"

"Pfft." Zevran swiped the bottle petulantly. "You do not know good poetry when you hear it."

"I'm sure I know bad poetry when I hear it!"

"Bah! You wound me! But why did you pick Leliana?"

"Well, she has blue eyes. They are very light, like the sea and sky. But not scary, like yellow eyes."

"Morrigan has nicer breasts," Zevran asserted. He took another drink and passed Bannon the bottle.

"You've never seen Leliana's. As much as Morrigan's, I mean."

"Neither have you!"

"You know what I wonder?" Bannon said, waving the bottle neck like a philosophical finger. "How that thing she's wearing stays on."

"I would worry more about how to get it off." Zevran leered, and they both snorted laughter. "But seriously," he said, taking his turn at the bottle, "they could be bigger. I like a nice cleavage."

"Nah."

"Nah?" Zevran looked at him as if he were spouting blasphemy.

"No, cleavage? It looks like a butt."

"I thought you liked butts!"

"Sure, but they don't belong on a woman's chest!"

The two collapsed in laughter. Alistair wandered over. "Do I even want to ask what you are talking about?"

Zevran said, "We are talking about women." He waved the bottle temptingly. "Care to join us?"

"What do you two know about women?" he asked dubiously.

Zevran coughed. "I have serviced a great many women, I will have you know! And what? Did you think Bannon was gay?"

"Uhhh..." Alistair stared down at the elf.

Bannon reddened. "You thought I was gay?"

"Is this a trick question?" Alistair insisted. "Aren't you the one romping around with... him?"

"I like women just fine!" Bannon insisted.

Alistair's eyes slowly widened. "And yet... you're the one romping around with-?"

A deep crimson suffised Bannon's face, spreading all the way up to his eartips. Zevran snapped, "Stop making him blush!"

"Sorry!" Alistair held up his hands apologetically. "I don't get it?"

"Bannon is bi-sexual, the same as I am," Zevran said curtly. "There is nothing wrong with that!" He handed the bottle up towards the human.

"Sorry," Alistair said again. "I didn't mean... um. You still want me to drink with you?"

Slowly, a very dangerous smile spread across the assassin's face. "Oh yes. I am going to embarass the hell out of you, now."

"It's all right," Bannon said, having remastered himself and recovered more of his normal colouring.

Alistair sat down. "I'm game. I didn't mean to embarass you, really." He took a pull from the bottle, then offered it to Bannon.

"Andraste's tits," he said, "do they all think I'm gay?"

Zevran shook his head sadly. "You really should chase the women more. Make lewd comments to them."

"Please don't," Alistair cried. "Isn't one of you enough?"

"True," said Zevran with a wistful sigh. "There is no one like me. Not even close."

"Hey," said Bannon.

"Okay, lover, perhaps close." Just to spite him, Bannon handed the bottle back to Alistair. Zevran narrowed his eyes, this political by-play not escaping his notice. "The question on the table is: Morrigan or Leliana?"

"What about them?" Alistair took another drink.

Bannon rolled his eyes. "Which one would you rather have sex with?"

Alistair choked and coughed. Zevran grabbed the bottle and actually slapped the human's wrist. "No spilling the booze!"

Alistair coughed again, then he said, "Gee, which one would I rather sleep with? An evil witch, or a lunatic nun? How does one answer that?"

"Not them as them," Zevran explained. "But if you saw two completely unrelated women who looked like them, and could only have sex with one, which one would it be?"

"Uhm..." Alistair seemed to have trouble with the entire concept.

Helpfully, Bannon said, "You can pick Zevran." The assassin leered.

"Gah, no." Alistair said decisively. "I guess... I... I don't know!"

"All right, neither one appeals to you. Hmm." Zevran gave the matter grave thought for a few seconds. "All right, let's discover Alistair's dream woman."

"This sounds bad. Can I at least be more drunk than this?" Zevran relinquished the bottle to him, and Bannon pulled another out of the satchel to share between the elves.

Zevran said, "We will start simply. Blonde, brunette, or redhead?"

"Uh..."

Bannon sighed. "Are you sure you like women?" he asked.

"I do! But I don't know which one I like til I meet her, do I?" Alistair insisted.

Zevran rolled his eyes. "Look, just close your eyes, and imagine your dream woman." He waited til the human followed his instructions. "So... what colour is her hair?"

"Uh, blonde."

"Tall or short?"

"Tall."

"Human or elven?"

Alistair's eyes popped open. "Okay, this is a trick question!"

"What?" the assassin protested innocently.

"If I say 'human,' you'll think I don't like elves. And if I say 'elf,' you'll think I'm some human lech who thinks elves are easy."

"Ah hah, interesting." Zevran nodded philosophically.

Alistair scowled. "Well answer this, then. Since you like men and women, which do you like better?"

Zevran pursed his lips. "Well, it does not matter. There is no better; only different."

"Yah, but if a man and a woman are walking down the street, and you can only have sex with one of them," Alistair insisted. Zevran's eye started to twitch.

"You're going to give his brain a hernia," Bannon said, snickering.

"This is a completely unfair and irrelevant question!" Zevran said.

Alistair countered with, "Well, so is this nonsense you're asking me!"

Zevran sighed deeply and collapsed dramatically backwards to lie on the ground.

"All I want to know is," said Bannon, "does she have a large bosom?"

"And ask about her butt," floated the assassin's opinion up from the ground.

"Well," said Alistair, thinking hard. "Not huge, but ample?"

"With cleavage?" Zevran persisted.

"Well, yeah."

"Aha, see!" The Antivan sat up. "Many men like that."

Bannon shook his head. "You guys must be talking about human women. I've never seen an elf that didn't have nice breasts, and they don't stick together!"

"Oh!" cried Zevran. "You've never been with a human woman! Well, we'll fix that right up at the next whorehouse we pass."

Bannon reddened again. "We will not! And I thought you were going to make Alistair blush!"

"But you're so easy, lover."

"Zev!"

"See!" Zevran laughed, and Alistair did, too.

"Fine." Bannon grabbed the newer bottle. "I'm taking the Wardens' stash of booze, and I'm going to drink it by myself."

"No no no," Zevran plucked at his arm to forestall him. "You should never drink alone!"

"Why not? I get more, that way!"

Zevran waved his hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, I promise complete humiliation on Alistiar. I give you my word!"

"My bottle's kinda empty, I should get going...," the human said pre-emptively.

"Just answer one thing in payment for the drinking and company," Zevran insisted.

"Oh...kay." A look of impending doom came across Alistair's face. "And that one thing is?"

Zevran nodded firmly. "Tell us about your first time."

"Ah..."

"With a woman?"

"Er..."

"When you lost your virginity?"

"Um..." Alistair turned beet red.

Zevran tried not to giggle hysterically. "You're still a virgin?" He looked at Bannon, and they both burst out laughing.

"I'm not!" Alistair yelled. "Exactly. Sorta."

Bannon collapsed against Zevran. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to slap the cork in the bottle he was holding, before it spilled. Zevran bent double and beat his hand on the ground. "I know what this is!" he said, or tried to, between gales of laughter. "This is the story I predicted! The one with the unfortunate urinary accident!" He howled and fell over backwards again. "You owe me seven gold pieces!"

"I don't want to talk about it," Alistair said calmly.

Bannon fell down to his belly, and tucked his face into the crook of his arm, laughing hysterically. He kicked his feet.

"A gentleman never discusses such things," Alistair insisted.

Zevran rolled from side to side, arms crossed over his stomach. "Oh, stop! You're killing me!" Bannon started hiccoughing.

Wynne and Leliana ran up, with Sten. "What on earth is going on here?" Wynne demanded. She looked from one prostrate elf to the other. "Have you been drinking again?"

Bannon only laughed breathlessly between hiccoughs. He was so out of breath, he could only lie there helplessly. Zevran wheezed. "Oh! I am slain!" He giggled.

Alistair snatched up the bottle Bannon had saved. "Yes, well, I was just telling them funny stories." He stood up and brushed his pants off.

"Help...," Bannon gasped out; "I'm about to -hic- have an unfortun-hic-ate urinary accident!"

"Bwaaaah!" Zevran bawled. He convulsed and flopped onto his stomach. He just lay there inhaling in gasps and exhaling in a weak laughing fit.

"I would like to hear this joke," Sten said.

Alistair snapped his fingers with a downward arc of his fist and stomped the ground with one foot. "Darn it, I'd love to see you laugh hysterically like that, but it was a 'you had to be there' sort of thing."

"I see," said Sten, clearly not. He moved to stand over Bannon. "Do you require assistance?"

"If you could j-hic- just drag me into the -hic- bushes..."

Solemnly, the qunari plucked him up by the back of his tunic and did just that. He left Bannon there and returned to his patrol.

Alistair shrugged at Wynne and grinned sheepishly. She just shook her head and turned back to camp. The knight followed. Leliana moved to Zevran. "Let that be a lesson to you," she scolded, "to share next time you go on a bender."

"Yes, your divine beautiness!"

==X==


	26. Assassination Can be Fun

**On the Road to Orzammar: Assassination Can Be Fun**

_Content:_  
Rating: Teen 17  
Flavor: Humor  
Language: some  
Violence: practicing on inanimate objects  
Nudity: partial (m)  
Sex: post coital (m/m)  
Other: contains Zevranisms and juvenile male humor

_Author's Notes:_

Warning: contains Alistair wearing a blanket. And Zevran wearing pants.

* * *

**Assassination Can Be Fun  
==#==**

_Party Banter: The Arl of Denerim_

Bannon: "So Arl Urien-"

Zevran: "His name was Urien? I can imagine what you actually called him!" ::laughs:: "Andraste's Ass, his parents must have hated him! What was his father's name, Rodney?"

Leliana: "I sense more male humor coming on. Perhaps we should quicken our pace, ladies, yes?"

Morrigan: "I agree."

Bannon: "No, I think his father's name was Pineas."

Zevran: ::laughing::

Bannon: "So he'd show up at the Landsmeet and go, 'I am Arl Pineas, and this is my son, Urien.'"

Zevran: "No, no, my friend; you have to use more noblese speech. He would say, 'I am Arl Pineas, and this is the issue of my loins, Urien.'"

Alistair: ::cracks up::

Wynne: "Great Maker, that was horrid. Can't you boys think of something else to talk about?"

Zevran: "What was his mother's name?"

Bannon: "Ummm... Virginia?"

Zevran: ::laughs::

Alistair: "Ah well, I guess she never really knew her husband."

Zevran: ::almost falling over laughing::

Morrigan: "Will you three _Shut Up_!"

Leliana: "Don't you have a Silence spell?"

Morrigan: "No, but I believe a Sleep spell will work just as well. When they wake up they can catch up to us again."

==#==

Finished with their nightly coupling, the two elves untangled themselves and lay catching their breaths. Bannon put his arm around Zevran's shoulders as the other snuggled against his chest. "Hey," he said, nudging the Antivan. "I want to ask you something."

Zeran groaned, not opening his eyes. "Why must you ruin such fabulous sex with talk afterward? Everyone wants to talk about my past," he griped.

"I don't want to talk about your past."

Surprised, Zevran looked up at him. "You don't?"

"I know about your past." Bannon shook his head. He combed his fingers through Zevran's flaxen hair, lifting it gently and letting it fall in a light cascade again. "You were born in a whorehouse and raised as an assassin. I was born in the gutter and raised in the slums. What's to talk about?"

Zevran pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I see your point."

"I just haven't made my past sound as glamorous as yours."

"We can work on that."

Bannon smiled. "No one is as good as you are." He kissed the other elf. "But I wanted to ask... if you could teach me to be an assassin."

Zevran raised his brows. "Ahhh. To know the secrets of the Crows. They would like everyone to believe that it is a most arduous trial, taking years to achieve - for those who are not killed even attempting it. And those who survive, they are sworn into the brotherhood."

"So you can't tell me?" Bannon asked.

"Ah, I've already slipped their noose. What is one more tweak to their noses, hm?" Zevran grinned. "Actually, the concept is fairly simple. An assassin relies upon stealth and surprise, as well as careful study of a target's weak spots, in order to strike most effectively and most brutally. When your opponent is blinded, poisoned, stunned and crippled, it is difficult for him to fight back, no? Then you can dispatch him with haste, without those long, drawn-out, upstanding fights that knights are so fond of." He was absorbed in his own thoughts a while, absently rubbing Bannon's stomach. Then he said, "Yes, this I can teach you. It will be fun. I will make it fun!" He smiled at Bannon, then kissed him deeply. "In the morning, lover."

==#==

Alistair rummaged around in his tent, tossing his bedroll and socks everywhichway. Finally, he stuck his head out. "Wynne!" he called. "Have you seen my clothes?"

The old mage sighed. "No, but I haven't sorted my laundry yet. Did you hide more of your clothes in mine?"

"No, I can't find them!"

"Where did you leave them last?"

"Well, here in my tent."

Wynne shook her head. "Honestly, Alistair, if you didn't keep your tent like a pig sty, you wouldn't be losing things."

"I didn't lose them...," he grumbled, though not too loudly. He ducked back into his tent. With a frown, he looked around. "Hang on... someone-!" With a growl, he wrapped a blanket around his legs and stomped out of the tent wearing only that, smallclothes, and a pair of socks. "Someone's stolen my armor!" With that, he glared suspiciously at Bannon's tent.

He hesitated to go over there - Maker knew what those two might be doing! - but then he saw the tent flap was open. The elves weren't inside. With a scowl, Alistair looked around the camp. There wasn't any sign of them anywhere. Wynne was just stoking up the fire in preparation for making breakfast. Everyone else was just waking up themselves. Except...

Alsitair went over to where the golem was standing, feeling even more 'squishy' in his socks and blanket. "Did you see where Bannon and Zevran went?"

"Of course. There is nothing even remotely interesting to see all night while the squishy ones sleep. But then the noisy ones started moving about, and very silently, too."

"Where did they go?"

Shale pointed out the way, and Alistair marched in that direction. He stopped marching after a few steps, when he stepped on a sharp twig. After that, he just... minced angrily.

He found the two elves in a nearby clearing, shirtless but armed. He also spied his armor, propped up on a makeshift stand. With a growl, he accosted Zevran. "You stole my armor!"

Zevran turned to him with the most astonished look on his face. "I? You accuse me of this? Alistair, I am shocked!"

"What!?"

"_I_ am an assassin, and a whore - not a thief! You want thieving," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "you want Bannon."

Alistair looked over at Bannon. "_You_ stole my armor!" he repeated.

"We didn't steal it," the elf said mildly. "We're only borrowing it." Zevran laughed.

"'Borrowing'!? Without my permission!"

"We couldn't very well ask you," Zevran pointed out. "You were asleep. Besides, you wouldn't want to be in it while we practice." Quick as lightning, he turned and struck out with his long blade. The point sank deep into the groin seam of the armor.

Alsitair squeaked and clutched himself in sympathy.

Zevran recovered and turned to Bannon. "This is a devastating attack. Some believe it is only useful against male opponents, but do not be misled. There is a large blood vessel here in the groin." He moved close, and put his hand between Bannon's legs. He slid it up to the crease of the thigh, pressing firmly. "There is a strong pulse there. Can you feel that?"

"Oh yes; I feel that."

Zevran grinned. "The target is difficult to hit. Practice striking from many angles." He moved back to give Bannon room.

The rogue stood loosely, half turned away from the armor. Then he twisted into a fighting crouch, striking out. His blade clanged against the codpiece. Muttering under his breath, he set up to try again.

Leliana came up behind Alistair and Zevran. "What is going on? Alistair, why are you naked?"

Zevran gave her an alluring smile. "I am teaching Bannon the ways of an assassin."

"As for why I'm naked," Alistair added, "It seems a couple of sneaky elves stole my armor _and_ my- hey!" He goggled at Zevran. "Are those my pants you're wearing!?"

The Antivan looked down in surprise. "Are they? I thought they fit oddly when I put them on."

"Why are you wearing my pants!?"

Zevran turned to the other elf. "Bannon, why did you carelessly throw Alistair's clothes into the pile where I might mistakenly grab them and put them on?"

"So you could stop saying how much you wanted to get into his pants," Bannon answered, not looking up from his practice.

"AUGH!" Zevran clutched his forehead, bending backwards in discomfiture. "And _I_ so much wanted to say that line!"

Leliana, put both hands over mouth.

"You're wearing my pants!" Alistair screeched, his voice going up a notch.

"Well, I shall return them to you right away." Zevran began unlacing the fly.

"No!"

The elf stopped, looking up at him. He raised one brow, then smiled. "Well, if you insist." He turned back to his pupil. Bannon struck the hapless dummy in the groin with his blade. Zevran walked over. "Not that angle." He stepped up behind Bannon, and took the other elf's wrist in his hand. "Like this." He guided Bannon's hand slowly to the target. "Remember, you are not trying to strike his genitalia, but here at the joint."

Leliana watched, entranced. Morrigan found them and came over. "What are you-?" She scowled at the two elves. And then the Templar. "Alistair, why are you naked?"

"I'm not _naked,_" he griped. "And because _some_one stole my clothes." He stopped watching the elves and looked at the women. They both stared at the two shirtless elves who stood together, moving together slowly as one, in a graceful dance.

"Yes, like this," Zevran said into Bannon's ear. "Just so. Now, thrust!" With the lightest touch, he guided the other elf's hand to strike the seam at the armor's groin. "And - thrust! And _thrust!_"

Bannon tensed and resisted. "Zevran," he said, "you're making Alistair blush." Firmly, though gently, he shoved back with his shoulders, shrugging the Antivan off him.

Laughing, Zevran moved off to give him room once more. With an evil grin, he approached Alistair. "I think he is right."

Alistair rubbed his face with one hand. "I am _not_ blushing!"

"Oh, I didn't mean your face." Zevran leered.

Leliana tried so hard not to laugh. Morrigan just coughed.

Alistair sputtered. Defensively, he clutched his blanket tighter around his waist. "Look, you! Now I want those pants washed, and I mean _thoroughly,_ before you give them back!"

"Of course, illustrious knight!" Zevran gave him a mock half-bow. "Perhaps you would like a bit of tailoring done too, hm? I could take in a few tucks, then they would really show off your assets!"

Morrigan snorted, and Leliana nearly choked trying to stifle herself.

"Oh, I know - how about a bit of embroidery? You like that, no? I can stitch my name inside the fly: 'Zevran was here.'"

"All right, that's it!" Alistair snapped. "Forget that; give them to me, right now!"

Both Zevran's brows went up. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously! Then I can go back to camp and I won't have to listen to your cheap remarks!"

Silently, Zevran knelt and pulled off his boots. Then he stood, and looking down as not to meet Alistair's eyes, he carefully removed the pants. Standing now only in his smallclothes, he held them out. Alistair took them without a word. The knight stomped (well, minced) off.

Zevran looked up at the ladies and smiled. Leliana flushed. The elf retrieved his boots and returned to his student.

Bannon just looked at him, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Zevran shrugged. "Now," he said once again taking up a stance against Bannon's back, right hand lightly on the rogue's waist. "When your opponent raises his weapon to strike, there is a huge soft spot that is exposed in the crease of the arm." He paused to give Bannon's neck a little lick. "It is not a quick kill like the groin, but it will cripple your target's strength and his ability to attack you." With firm and gentle hand, he guided Bannon's left arm, sweeping upward towards the dummy's armpit. Twice the two elves swept through the motion, then Zevran left him to practice on his own.

He gave Leliana a sly sidewise look. "You like what you see, no?"

"No," she stammered. "I mean... yes. You are both very attractive elves."

"Do keep in mind my offer of services to you, should you need them to assuage those aesthetic urges."

Morrigan frowned at him. "Don't you already _have_ a lover?"

"But only one," Zevran quipped irreverantly with a grin.

"That would not be seemly," Leliana added, looking away from the scantily clad elf to watch Bannon work.

Zevran waved it off. "Oh, he does not mind."

"Maybe he just doesn't care for you," Morrigan said icily. "He certainly doesn't seem too impressed with your attempts to distract him."

The Antivan nodded. "Just so. Look at him. He is quite focussed at his work." He and Leliana watched Bannon for a few minutes. "He is very disciplined," Zevran said. "Nothing will distract him from his purpose. He is a most impressive leader. Very strong."

"Yes, he is," Leiana replied distractedly.

Morrigan folded her arms and silently fumed.

==#==

Bannon brought the armor back to the knight. "Thanks, Alistair. I promise, I didn't scratch it."

Zevran wandered up behind him. "Do you need help strapping it on?" he asked hopefully.

"No," said Alistair bluntly. He narrowed his eyes and thrust out his jaw. The stony look wiped the smirk off Zevran's face, and the elf slunk away. Disgusted, Alistair shook his head. "I don't know how you put up with him. Honestly, Bannon, sometimes he's completely insufferable."

"He can't help himself," the elf replied. "He's... he didn't exactly have a decent life."

"Well, you'd think he could at least learn some manners. He's shameless! Not like you. You at least have the decency-"

"To be ashamed?"

"No," said Alistair quickly. "I didn't mean that. Just..." He frowned at his friend. Bannon hung his head, shoulders slumped. "You're not, are you? I mean..." Frowning more deeply with concern, Alistair touched Bannon's arm. "If that's the case, why don't you just stop? Tell him off?"

Bannon turned away. He put a hand to his face; shook his head. "No. No, I can't. It's... When I'm with him, I don't have the nightmares. I... Maybe it's like strong drink, or opiates; maybe I'm addicted to it - to him." He rubbed his face with both hands. In an undertone he added, "And he's really... really good." He slumped again, looking at the ground.

"So it's...," Alistair said hesitantly. "Just sex? You're not... I mean, you don't...?"

Bannon shrugged. "Does that make it any better?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure about this whole 'two men together' thing. I don't want to be judgemental about it," he added hastily. "Just - hell, I don't know."

"It's all right, Alistair; you don't have to be okay with it." With effort, Bannon raised his head. He lifted his shoulders and exhaled. "I don't have the luxury of worrying about love or addiction or any of that. I've got a job to do, and whatever helps me through it..." He turned back around.

"Well," said Alistair, "if you never need someone to talk to about things..."

"Go see Wynne?" Bannon cocked an eyebrow at him, half-smiling.

Alistair smiled back. "Heh. Well, you'll probably get some better answers there."

The elf looked across the camp, his smile fading. "Yeah. Maybe."

==_X_==


End file.
